Forever's Not Enough
by Robbie the Phoenix
Summary: AU, SamDean slash. Sam and Dean aren't related. Dean's father sends him to St. Louis to look into a chain of murders he thinks have been committed by a shapeshifter. While there, Dean meets a young man who turns his world upside down.
1. New in Town

**Forever's Not Enough**

**Disclaimer**: Don't own any of them (I know, it's so sad). No, wait! I own Karl and Nick.

**Author's Note**: It's been done by others, I thought I'd give it a shot. So, Sam and Dean aren't related, but both of them lost their mother's to the Demon. Sam's father (not John) just happened to deal with it in a different way to John. Dean and John follow the basic Supernatural storyline; they're both still hunters.

However, Dean will seem a little out of character, due to the fact that, without Sam, he never had to look out for the extra someone growing up. He was basically raised to look out for himself and no one else.

Sam is definitely going to be out of character, because he's been raised by a controlling father who _wants _him to become a lawyer. Sam's rebelling, in the opposite direction to the one he took in the show. He's as far from the Sam in the show as I could get him without turning him evil.

And no, this is not going to be a re-work of the series (even if it may look that way in the beginning). I just happened to start it where the series started because… it was convenient, or something like that.

Finally, I'd like to thank the author who helped me decide which of my SamDean fanfics to write, without whom I would not have been able to get started on this fanfic. She's not been named in case she'd rather remain anonymous. You know who you are.

**Feedback**: Is welcome, unless you're flaming. If you're flaming, you're not welcome and you're wasting your own time more then anything else (not to mention insulting me just because you don't like what I'm writing).

**Warnings**: There is going to be SamDean slash, though not wincest. Sam's majorly out of character. That's about all I think.

**Prologue**: New In Town

Someone was shaking him awake. They weren't exactly being gentle.

Dean Winchester opened his eyes, glaring up at whoever had dared interrupt his sleep, and almost jumped out of his bed when saw who was standing over him.

"Dad!" He yelped out. It hadn't been meant to sound so squeaky, but that's happened when his father caught him by surprise in the middle of a rather erotic dream (and that happened a lot more then one would think); he always thought his father somehow knew what he was dreaming.

"You were expecting someone else?" John Winchester asked.

"Well…" Dean began, but then saw the look on his father's face. "… No, no one, actually." He said, swinging his legs off the bed and coming to a sitting position. With a yawn, he reached down to retrieve his shirt, which he'd dropped there the night before. "What are you even still doing here? Don't you have a job you need to get to?"

"Yeah, up at Jericho." John said, moving away from his son, over to the table where their laptop sat.

"Right, those missing guys." Dean said, pulling on his jeans now. "You sure you don't need a hand?" he asked, almost hopefully.

"Yeah, I'm sure." John said with a chuckle, knowing how eager Dean was to get out of his own job. Of course, there was no way in hell that he was going to. "Besides, if you help me, who'll help all those poor, innocent people in St. Louis?" he asked.

"Dad, those poor innocent people should get the cops to look into it." Dean said. There had been a few murders in St. Louis, but they hadn't caught John's attention until one of the supposed murderer's had turned up with a solid alibi for being in one place, when a security camera clearly placed him at the scene of the crime. Despite the fact that John thought of that was evidence enough that it was there kind of job, Dean still thought it would be a waste of time, especially when he could be helping his father find out what could be causing the disappearances of all those young men. But then, when it came to a hunt…

"… there's no such thing as a waste of time." John finished, having just given Dean yet another lecture about the importance of each and every hunt, even if it turned out to be bogus. He was never sure if his son actually listened to the lectures, but at the very least Dean pretended to be interested.

"Okay, fine, you've convinced me," Dean said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. John chuckled, before turning to the laptop to check for any articles on any new disappearances. "Just promise me I can come and help you as soon as I'm done." He said, an eager look in his eyes, one John could never say no to.

"Okay, if you deal with whatever's behind these murders, as you seem to think you so easily will, then, and only then, may you join me at Jericho to deal with whatever's causing trouble there." His voice was an attempt at stern. His face clearly showed how proud of his son he was, spoiling any chance of being stern with Dean, who simply grinned at his father.

"On that note, shouldn't you be gone already?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, I just wanted to make sure you were in St. Louis and hard at work before I left, so I can make sure you don't follow me."

"Follow you? I'm wounded. Don't you trust me?" Dean asked, pretending to be hurt.

"Not since I gave you that car, no." John said conversationally. Now it was Dean's turned to chuckle. "Now get gone already, I'd like to get a head start on the day." Dean glanced over at the clock on the bedside table of their motel room. A little five-thirty in the a.m., definitely plenty of time for his father to get a 'head start on the day'. Dean, however, was eager to get this hunt over with so he could join his father.

"Okay, leaving now." He said, grabbing his duffle bag in one hand and sling it over his shoulder, using the other hand to grab the knife from under his pillow.

"Hey, Dean," John said just as his son reached the door. Dean turned back around to face his father. "Try not to get into too much trouble."

"Don't I always?" Dean asked with a shrug and a smile, holding out his hands, the knife still in one of them. John gave a half-hearted laugh.

"I'll ignore that," he said promptly after the laugh ended, knowing full-well that the first thing Dean would do was go in search of trouble. Most likely involving a girl who had had a little too much to drink.

Another shrug, and Dean was gone, closing the door behind him. Shaking his head, John turned back to the laptop, no longer needing to pretend.

"Now, how do I get this infernal machine to work," he muttered, hitting one of the buttons in the hopes it would turn on.

-;-

Dean searched through the bag he had foolishly left in the trunk of his '67 Chevy Impala the night before. He'd grabbed the supplies bag and that was about it, having been out late the previous night dealing with a nasty little imp who couldn't keep his hands to himself (yes, the human variety, not the supernatural kind).

Finally finding what he was so desperately looking for, he pulled it out, put it on the roof of his get, closed the bag, and put it back in the trunk with his other bag, and pulling the trunk closed. He then grabbed his leather jacket off the roof of the car and pulled it on over his shirt to keep out the chill of the early morning. Then he walked around to the driver's door of the car and climbed in, pulling the door closed and starting the car up.

The motel they'd been staying at the last couple of nights was about half an hour out of St. Louis, and they'd stayed there specifically so John could persuade Dean to take the job here and not the voodoo thing he so desperately would have preferred. John had decided that a demon framing an innocent person for murder could be a lot more agreeable then nut-jobs dabbling in olden-day magic, as the last time they'd tangled with some voodoo, Dean had ended up under the control of the voodoo priest and almost killed both himself and John. John was obviously not going to let him do a voodoo job on his own any time soon.

So he was stuck here, in St. Louis, probably with a non-existent case while his father went off to deal with a real threat. Needless to say, Dean was not pleased with his life right now.

But with AC/DC blaring in his ears and a more-or-less empty road ahead of him, Dean felt his mood begin to pick up as he drove towards St. Louis, intending to find a nice quiet motel where he could sleep away the day (late nights, he could handle; early mornings, not so much, and it often took a day to recover if the two followed each other directly).

Luck, for once, was on his side, and he drove into the parking lot of a motel. It was about twenty-to-six, but judging from the light on in the front office, it was already (or still?) open. He just getting out of the car when the door to the main office opened and four people staggered out (though the incoherent shouts from behind them gave Dean the idea that they were being thrown out). The first two were nothing special, average height, average build, all around average. The two behind them caught Dean's eye. The first was a girl with wavy blonde hair, wearing form-fitting black pants and a black halter top. Her companion stood somewhere close six-foot-four, with unruly dark brown hair and bright hazel eyes, wearing a black coat, dark grey shirt, and black leather trousers. And, oh yeah, he was a guy. Not the first guy Dean had met that caught his attention this way, but it didn't happen often enough that it didn't surprise him every time he realized he found some guys as attractive as most girls. In this case, he wouldn't mind doing both of…

He shook his head, trying to rid himself of those thoughts. Right now, he had bigger fish to fry. Besides, all four of them were obviously drunk, and Dean tried to avoid people he himself hadn't gotten drunk, because most of the time they were just trying to get back the money he'd just hustled out of them from a game of pool.

So, ignoring the unruly bunch as they staggered past him, Dean walked up to the door and stepped in.

"I told you twice already, we are not open to-" The woman looked up and stopped when she saw Dean standing in the doorway, looking a little surprised. "Oh, I'm sorry. I've had a bad…" She glanced at the clock. "Week." She finished. "Can I help you?"

"Yeah, I was hoping I could get a room." Dean said.

"Sure can," the woman said. "Will that be cash or credit?"

"Uh… credit." Dean said opening his wallet and taking out one of the many fake credit cards he'd obtained. He handed it to the woman, and then glanced back over his shoulder without really wanting to, looking out the window at the group of youths who were all leaning against a car Dean couldn't quite make out in the early morning light.

"You know those four?" the woman asked. He looked over and saw she was holding out the card. He took it back, and shook his head.

"No, I only just got into town." He said.

"Ah. In that case, I'd avoid them like the plague if I were you."

"Why?"

"Because they're trouble." Was all the woman would see. She hand Dean a key. "Room seven's yours." She said. "Enjoy your stay." Dean took that as a dismissal (he'd been given enough of them from his father to recognize one when he heard it), and left the office in search of room seven.

It wasn't that hard. Just as he was reaching the door, he glanced over his shoulder to take one final look at the four youths, if they could be called that. The oldest-looking, the guy that had caught Dean's attention, was in his early twenties, no older then twenty-two, Dean guessed. The other three seemed to be around the same, except for one of the other guys, who might've been twenty-five. No big age difference, but there was something about him Dean didn't really like. Then again, the same could be said for just about every person Dean met that didn't have really distracting breasts. It normally had nothing to do with the other person actually; Dean just wasn't an easy person to get along with. That happens if your best friend growing up is a handgun and the only person you say more then a couple of words to, other then your dad, is your teacher when he asks you a question.

Okay, so Dean hadn't had the ideal childhood. But if given the choice to start again, he'd do it exactly the same, because it was what he loved. It was more then just a job for him; in his mind, it was what he'd been born to be.

He turned back to the door, unlocking it and entering the room. He'd get his stuff from the car later, like tonight. Right now, all he really felt like doing was sleep.

So he stripped down to his boxers, and climbed into bed, asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.

-;-

Sam opened his eyes, and almost whimpered as the sunlight directly assaulted them. Holding his hand up to shield his face, he looked around himself to try and make sense of where he was.

"Guys? Anyone else conscious?" he asked, sitting up. "Or even alive?" it wouldn't be the first time one or more of them had almost drank him-(or her)-self to death. A faint groan came from his left, and he looked down to see his girlfriend lying next to him, her blonde hair catching the sunlight like a bright golden halo.

"Karl? Nick? Either of your two… coherent?" he asked, squinting around. One of said friends was slumped up against the swing set (oh, great; they'd passed out outside), clearly still unconscious. In the morning glare, Sam couldn't quite tell if it was Karl or Nick. He continued looking and deduced that Karl was the one at the swings because Nick was passed out next to Jessica. Looking a little too close for Sam's comfort.

"Up!" He shouted. Then he groaned, putting his head in his hands. _Note to self: never raise your voice again._

"Wha-?" Nick groaned as he opened his eyes, one hand going to his head to try and quell the splitting headache Sam had just created, and the other coming up to shield them from the sunlight. "Have you no respect for the dead, man?" he asked.

"No." Sam said simply. "If you want respect, talk to the cadaver." He pointed over at Karl. Nick propped himself up on his elbows, looking over at their friend. "What's up with you getting cute with my girlfriend?" Sam asked, doing his best to glare at his best friend. He didn't do very well; his eyes couldn't really get past the squint he needed right now to try and keep out the sunlight. Why, oh why were they outside?

Nick was looking down at Jessica, who was snuggled up against him, much to Sam's distress. He gave Sam one of those cocky grins that Sam hated so much, "I guess I got lucky last night." He said with a shrug. Then, "Oh, bad idea." The small movement had sent his head spinning.

"If I was sure it wouldn't hurt me more then you, I'd see that that wasn't the only pain you were feeling now." Sam said. He reached down ad pulled Jessica over to him, holding her possessively.

"Sammy?" she whispered, her eyes opening to narrowed slits; of the four of them, Jessica was the only one with any real common sense after a long night of drinks, fist-fights, and flirting. Of course, common sense went out the window, in Sam's opinion, when you woke up and found your girlfriend getting comfy with your _best _friend.

"Right here, baby." He said, planting a kiss on her forehead. "You wanna tell me if something's going on with you and Nicky or do I just need to find myself a mistress?" he asked. She smiled up at him and put her arms around his neck.

"Yeah, that's right." She said. "Nicky and I, we're hopelessly, deeply in love with each other."

"Yeah, right,"

"We're getting married."

"Thanks for the warning."

"I'm pregnant."

"I'm gonna vomit."

"Very funny."

"No, really, I'm gonna vomit." Sam had a rather sickly look on his face, and without much warning other then what he'd just said, he suddenly rolled over, letting go of Jessica in the process, and proceeded to puke his innards out. Or, that's what it felt like anyway.

"Where'd we end up last night?" Nick asked, sitting all the way up as Sam continued to empty out his stomach onto the grass. "Please, continue, you can answer when your down." Jess smiled up at him, looking over at Sam.

"You okay over there?" she asked, a look of concern on her face.

"I'll live." Sam got out. "Probably." Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he turned back around to them. "Remind me why we do this to ourselves every other day." He said.

"Mostly just because we can," Jess said, also sitting up now. "Also, our parents don't like it."

"We're over twenty-one- barely- what do our parents have to do with it?" he asked.

"Well, since we're all still living with them…" Jess trailed off. Sam smiled suddenly, reaching over and pulling her into his arms. She tried to pull away as he tried to kiss her. "Ew, no, you have vomit breath, get away from me." She whined. Anything else she said was cut off when his lips touched hers. A few seconds later, her arms were wrapped around his neck and she was kissing him with as much passion and ferocity as he was her, actually pushing him down so he was lying flat on the grass, holding his hands either side of his head as she rubbed her body against his (well, their clothes anyway), their tongues caught in a duel for superiority as they continued to kiss each other.

"Um… guys…" Nick sat and watched them for a minute (it wasn't like he enjoyed watching Sam being overpowered by his girlfriend- honest, it wasn't), but soon became bored. "Guys, single guy over here, you're making me jealous."

Jess broke the kiss, but didn't get off Sam. In fact, she didn't even look away from her boyfriend as she spoke to Nick, "You could always go over and have some fun with Karl; he's in no position to complain."

"Ha-ha, very funny," Nick replied. Boyfriend and girlfriend both looked over at him, and Sam gave him a guilty smile, clearly enjoying his make out session with Jess but feeling bad about leaving his friend with nothing to do. Except that really wasn't like Sam, which was probably why the smile didn't look sincere. In fact, Sam's idea of _fun_ was tying Nick down and then making out with Jess in front of him. And, on one occasion, on top of him.

Karl always seemed to be nowhere around when Sam got in that mood, which was why Nick had come to resent the other man. For that matter, Karl hadn't been around much at all lately. The two years age difference between the three high school drop-outs and their street-smart friend seemed to have become ten years over the last couple of months, and he'd been spending less and less time with them. That was one of the reasons Sam had been so insistent about the party they'd gone to last night (even if the details of said party were sketchy at best right now); he'd wanted their gang back together, at least for one night.

"How many do you think he had?" Jess asked, nodding towards Karl. He appeared to be alright, minus the fact that he was still unconscious.

"Dunno… I had…" Sam stopped for a minute, counting them off in his head. "Ten… or twelve." He smiled. Jess rolled her eyes. "Nicky?"

"Nine." Nick responded.

"Jess?" Sam asked, turning to his girlfriend.

"Eleven." She said with a smile. "Hey, Kar-ar-argh." All three of them groaned. Up until then, they'd all been talking in loud whispers, but Jess had made the mistake of raising her voice, and now the headaches they'd been trying to suppress were back, with friends.

"Nicky, wake him up." Sam ordered. Nick gave him a 'why me?' look, but Sam just nodded towards Karl insistently, and, grumbling incoherently under his breath, Nick turned around and crawled over to where the older man was lying.

"Karl." He said softly, poking him in the chest. A couple of seconds of no response, and he turned around, crawling back to Sam and Jess, who were both staring at him. "I tried." He said with a shrug. They kept staring at him.

"That was trying?" Sam asked. He sighed, looking over at Karl. "Okay, come on, let's see if we can get him back to…" He trailed off, suddenly looking around. "Guys, where's his car?" The other two looked around as well, but saw no sign of the black Jeep Cherokee that Karl drove.

"Shit," Nick said simply, as all three of them realized they had no idea where they'd left the car the night before.

-;-

**A/N: I know, I'm crazy for doing this (three stories at once, even with one of them almost done, is just insane for me), but this one just flowed out of me once I started. Once Eye of the Storm is finished, I'm not sure which of the two remaining ones will be focused on more.**

**So, no real interaction between Sam and Dean in this chapter. I just thought I'd introduce them here (so you could see what they're like), and Dean did catch a glimpse of Sam on the way into the office, so that's something, right?**

**If anyone finds mention of a spirit and cars anywhere, let me know. That was the original reason for Dean going to St. Louis, but then I thought it would be better to just bring the shapeshifter into it, since, as Dean said in the show 'Who knows how many murder's this thing's gotten away with'. He could've been there for months, possibly even while Sam was still at Stanford. So yeah, I'm hoping I replaced all the information, but I'm not positive.**

**Also, John might have seemed… happier, then he did in the show. I just figured, without Sam to argue with all the time, it would've been easier for him to get by. **

**Hope ya'll enjoyed this. As I said at the beginning, if they're out of character, it's intentional, so no apologies needed for once. Please review, it would be appreciated. Until next time, Cyas.**


	2. Thieves and Fights

**Forever's Not Enough**

**Disclaimer**: See Prologue.

**Author's Note**: If anyone can tell me a better word to describe Sam and his friends, I would be very appreciative ('youths' makes them sound like teenagers, and although they tend to act that way, they're all adults).

**Review Answers**: On the subject of reviews… 344 hits, and three reviews. Something's wrong with this picture. Anyone?

_Jen _– Thanks, here's more, hope you like it.

_anon _– That's good to know, because I'll be doing my best to make Sam, at least, really out of character. I wish I were feeling more imaginative, but right now I don't really know what to say to everything you said (though I liked each and every comment you made). Hmmm… what happens when Sam meets Dean. Hehe, in this chapter, you'll find out.

_Miss Meehan _– Yay. Thanks for reading this. It sounds alright… so long as those of the gutter mind don't read too much into it. Hmmm, or maybe that wasn't what you meant at all… in which case I'm the one who lives in the gutter… this is dangerous territory indeed. You should probably just read this chapter so we don't get any further with this conversation.

**Chapter 1**: Thieves and Fights

Three thirty-six p.m. was what the digital clock beside Dean's bed read when he woke up. However, the fact that sun was quite clearly setting outside gave him reason to believe the clock was wrong. He'd have to do something about that later.

Right now though, he needed a drink. If he was going to be stuck here looking for something that could be almost anyone it wanted (not that he believed it, he was just entertaining the possibility), he would at least enjoy himself as much as he could while doing so. And if that meant getting drunk and getting laid, so be it.

Glancing out the window as he passed it on the way to the tiny bathroom that accompanied the room, Dean was surprised to see that the same car he'd noticed earlier that morning was still there; judging from the way it's owner (or owners?) had left the office, and the way the receptionist had reacted to them, he had been sure that the car along with the drunken posse would have been gone by now.

Deciding it wasn't really any of his business, nor interest, he continued on to the bathroom, having a quick shower, and then pulling on a pair of faded jeans, a black t-shirt, and a light grey-green shirt over it. A quick look in the mirror told him all he needed to know; he was presentable, and that was about it. Of course, he hadn't even been aiming for that much.

Leaving the room, Dean made his way across the parking lot. He was met by a rather unpleasant sight.

"Where the hell is my car?" he asked the receptionist barely thirty seconds later. The receptionist, far from intimidated by his tone, actually seemed to be angrier then him, though hers was directed _at _him.

"How should I know?" she demanded. "It's probably those four lunatics I warned you about this morning. Probably couldn't find their own car so they took yours instead." Dean stared at her. The idea of any one of those four behind the wheel of his baby was unpleasant to say the least. Horrifying to say the most.

"Do you have any idea where they'd go?" he asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

"Well, if they're drying out, they'll probably head home, in which case your car'll probably turn up within the next day or two." The receptionist said, a thoughtful look on her face.

"And if they aren't… drying out?" he asked, assuming that 'drying out' meant they were recovering from a night of drinking.

"Then they'll be in any one of at least a dozen clubs, and your car'll turn up in a week or so, probably in pieces."

Dean stared at her. She couldn't be serious. Okay, the look on her face said she was. That was alright; he could deal with this. He'd just check out all the local night clubs until he found the impala, then he'd track down whoever stole it. And then he'd tear them limb from limb.

Okay, so maybe nothing that drastic. But there would definitely be some punches thrown, at the very least.

"Okay. Thanks for your help." He said, almost as an afterthought. Then he left the office, returning to the parking lot and was met, once again, with the sight of an impala-less parking lot. With a small growl of frustration, he looked up and down the street as if hoping it would be there. "So much for the drinks." He said to himself as he started off down the sidewalk.

The first club was a dead end, with hardly any people there at all. The second seemed far more popular, but there was no sign of the impala or any of the four youths he'd seen earlier that day.

But luck, it seemed, still favoured him, because he happened to spot the impala in the parking lot of the third nightclub he passed. There was no sign of any of the ones who stole the car, but right then, that didn't matter to Dean. Besides, chances were, they'd be back out later, and then Dean would show them what happened when someone stole his baby.

In the mean time, he had to make sure there was no permanent damage done to the impala. No windows were damaged, though Dean definitely remembered locking the car that morning. So at least one of the culprits knew how to pick a lock. He had to give them a little credit for that. A little.

Aside from some damaged wires (they'd had to hotwire the impala, as Dean had had the keys- he really hoped the one who'd done it had been sober at the time), the car was more or less in the same condition it had been that morning.

Coming to the conclusion that the car was still in a reasonably good condition, Dean then began to consider what to do next. He could get in the impala, get it started, and drive away, probably to find a different nightclub, and then try and forget about the group of drunks that had stolen his beloved car. He _could_ do that.

But he wouldn't.

-;-

Sam was surprised when he entered the nightclub with Nick, Jess and Karl. While the banter and the music didn't die down completely, more then a few of the regulars were glancing at the four of them as they walked towards the bar, and it was a little unnerving.

They all took a seat on the stools, and ordered their drinks. Then Sam turned back to the crowd. Most people were still shooting the odd glance or two towards them. No, that wasn't quite right. Karl seemed to have avoided the attention; it was just Sam, Jess and Nick who were getting the amused and surprised looks.

"What… uh… Karl, did we do something last night?" he asked. Although Karl had been the one passed out that morning, he often had the most recollection of the goings on the night before after a long night of drinking.

The older man gave a short laugh, "What, you don't remember?" he asked in surprise. Sam shook his head.

"Not particularly." He said, giving Jess and Nick quizzical looks. Both of them shrugged, as aware of the attention they were getting as Sam. "And why are we the only ones they're looking at? Why aren't you being gawked at as well?" Karl grinned, taking a sip of his beer.

"Well, I wasn't part of the trio singing 'We Are the Champions' to the karaoke machine last night." He said. Sam's eyes went wide, Nick visibly paled, and Jess looked like she wanted to find somewhere private to beat her head against a wall.

"We didn't," Sam said, trying to deny the obvious.

"Oh, you did. It was absolutely dreadful," Karl chuckled. "You told me you couldn't sing, but…" he gave an exaggerated shudder.

"Okay, now you're just messing with us; we can't have been that bad."

"Trust your friend, you were." The man behind the bar said. Sam's eyes widened even more. The bartender was saying they sucked? They had sunk to a new low.

"Okay, we're leaving." He said, getting back to his feet. Jess was on her feet in an instant, as was Nick. Karl finished his beer before getting to his feet.

"Okay, fine, but you're buying the next round, wherever we get it." He said. The four of them left the nightclub, Sam, Jess and Nick feeling more then a little self-conscious as countless pairs of eyes followed them to the exit.

"So, where to now?" Nick asked as they reached the parking lot.

"I have a suggestion," all four of them looked up at the voice. A man around Karl' age was sitting on the hood of the impala they'd 'borrowed' earlier in the day when they couldn't find Karl's jeep. "I think you'd all enjoy spending some time at the police station."

"And what makes you say that?" Karl aseds, standing up to his full height of six-foot-two, making him a little taller then the other man.

"I know you guys stole this car," he said, nodding over his shoulder at the impala. "And the real owner happens to be pissed. Trust me; the police station is your safest bet."

There were a few minutes of silence following that announcement. Nick shifted uncomfortably behind Sam, obviously a little nervous about the prospect of being arrested. Karl and Sam both looked ready to put up a fight if the guy actually _tried_ to arrest them, and Jess… Jess seemed ready for a fight as well. Actually, the look in her eyes suggested that she _hoped_ this guy would try and arrest them. The girl loved a good fight.

But then Karl did something he rarely did. He did the smart thing. Or at least, that was what Sam was sure he'd tell himself later on, because all the warning he gave his three companions was a hasty "Run!" and then Karl was gone, off at a dead run down the street.

Jess and Nick didn't need to be told twice, bolting in two different directions to what Karl had. It took Sam a split second more to comprehend what had just happened. That split second was all it took for the man by the impala to decide who would be the easiest to catch, his gaze locking onto Sam.

And then the younger man turned and ran, in yet another different direction to what his three friends had gone. His legs were longer, and he had experience in making a quick getaway.

Quick being the operative word.

Sam was more then a decent runner when he had to be, but he tended to rely on throwing his pursuers off his trail more then out-running them, so it was inevitable that, if he couldn't find away to get away from this guy, he was going to be caught. That didn't sit too well with Sam, so he redoubled his efforts at putting some distance between himself and the other man, wishing there were a few more people out on the sidewalks.

He actually seemed to be getting ahead. And then, as a he turned down into an alley, he froze, looking around suddenly. It had almost seemed as though he'd heard something, almost, but not quite, like it was right on the edge of his hearing range.

The remainder of his thoughts were abruptly cut off as his pursuer came around the corner and, not expecting Sam to be standing right there, ran head-on into him, knocking both of them to the cold cement ground.

The shock of being knocked over was enough to bring Sam out of his momentary lapse in focus, but it was too late. He was more or less pinned to the ground by the older man (though at the moment it seemed more then accidental then anything else), and, try as he might, he couldn't wriggle out from under him. Though god knows he tried.

"You know, unless you're planning on doing something up there, I'd appreciate it if you got off of me." He said irritably. So what if he was with the guy who'd stolen the car, that didn't give this guy the right to try and flatten Sam against the pavement.

"And I'd appreciate a strong drink and a lap-dance right now." The other man said. "Life's harsh, deal with it." Sam hoped he wasn't expecting a lap-dance from him. That would be harsh. "Mind explaining to me why you stole my car?"

"That was your car?" Sam asked. "Look, man, I'm sorry. I wasn't even the one who hotwired it. We just couldn't find Karl's car, and yours was right there, convenient, so Karl picked the lock and then he-"

"Which one was Karl?"

Sam wanted to kick himself for mentioning one of his friends by name. He kept his mouth shut, not answering his question.

"I'm guessing it was the older one," the other man said after. "The one who high-tailed it as soon as the going got tough." Well, when you put it like that… slowly, Sam nodded his head. If he'd already figured it out, what was the point in denying it?

"Are you going to call the cops?" he asked. Just because he was the actual owner of the car, didn't mean he was really as pissed as he'd said he was, did it?

"That all depends," the extra weight lifted from him, and the older man was suddenly kneeling down in front of him. "Are you going to tell me who those 'friends' of yours were?"

"Just that," Sam said. "Friends." Nothing more need be said. He wasn't ratting out anymore of them.

"Okay then," he said, nodding slowly, holding out his hand to Sam. The young man stared suspiciously at the hand for a few seconds, before reluctantly taking at, accepting the help to his feet. A second later, the older man's fist connected with his face and he hit the concrete again.

"What the hell-?"

"I was hoping to do that to that Karl friend of yours, but you were right there, convenient, so I just thought…" He trailed off, throwing Sam's own words more or less back in his face.

Glaring up at the older man, Sam pulled himself back to his feet, wiping the blood from his split lip. Then, giving himself a quick shake, he raised both his fists. The other man stared at him for a second, and then laughed.

"Oh, come on, kid. You really don't want to get into a fight with me." He said, still laughing.

"My name's Sam."

"What?"

"My name," Sam repeated. "It's Sam. And I'm not a kid." He added. "You're, what? Twenty-six? Twenty-seven? Not that much older then me."

"Yeah, but I happen to have a lot more experience then-" Whatever he'd been going to say was cut off as Sam's punch hit home, catching him in the chin and sending him staggering backwards into the wall.

Shaking his head, rubbing his chin, a smirk came to his lips as he stared at Sam. "Okay, if that's the way you want it," he said. "Just don't go crying back to your mother when I beat some sense into the thick skull of yours. If I can get it through that forest of hair you've got growing. Ever heard of the hairdressers?"

"Ever heard of getting your opponent while he's down?" Sam asked, before throwing another punch at him. This time it was blocked through, and Sam was knocked backwards by a sharp jab to his chest.

"Yeah, I have, actually," was the response to his question.

"You got a name, or am I going to be beating up some nameless drunk tonight?" Sam asked, raising his hands again, trying to mimic the other man's fighting stance. He'd gotten into a few bar brawls, but he suspected this guy was far from your typical drunk looking to beat a little extra cash out of him.

"Trust me, if I was drunk, you'd be on the ground by now, because I rarely talk this much in a fight when I'm drunk," the older man said. Then he smirked again. "The name's Dean." He said, and then he ran forward, throwing a punch at Sam's face. Sam sidestepped out of the way, catching the guy's arm, and spun him around towards the wall again.

Dean had expected the move, though, and had grabbed ahold of Sam's arm and used the momentum of the spin to throw _Sam _into the wall.

A surprised grunt came from the younger man as he made contact with the bricks, his head spinning slightly as he stepped away from the wall. He turned a disgruntled look towards Dean, who was grinning smugly at Sam, clearly thinking he'd won. Feeling embarrassment on top of the pain of his jaw now, Sam ran forward, swinging his fists wildly at Dean. Dean either blocked, ducked under, or side-stepped out of the way of each and every punch Sam threw at him.

"That all you got, Sammy?" He asked, catching the younger man's fist in his hand, taking him by the throat, and pushing him right back up against the wall. Sam attempted to swat his arm away with his free hand, but Dean blocked it with the arm he was using to hold Sam's throat, and then pinned Sam's arm to the wall with it, still holding his throat with that hand and his fist with the other. Sam pushed against him, but Dean was quite obviously stronger.

"It's Sam." He ground out. Dean raised an eyebrow, smirked, and then pulled back, releasing Sam. In the next second, his fist connected with Sam's face for the second time that night, this time knocking him back into the wall with such ferocity that Sam's vision swam and he felt a little dizzy from the blow to his head he'd received when it had collided with the bricks behind him.

"It's Sammy." Dean countered as Sam sagged to the ground, his cheeks flushed and a defeated look on his face. Dean knelt down in front of him. "You want more or have I dealt you enough punishment tonight?" He asked. Sam refused to look Dean in the eyes, averting his gaze to a crack in the concrete.

Dean chuckled, shaking his head. Reluctantly, Sam looked up, fixing him with a withering glare.

"What?" He growled.

"Well, if you think beating you up is gonna make up for you helping to steal my car, you've got another thing coming." He said, turning a dark look on Sam. The genuine fear in the younger man's eyes turned the look into another smirk. "And that look just about erased the debt." And then, without warning, he grabbed a fistful of Sam's messy brown hair, and pressed their lips together in a harsh, fierce kiss that was devoid of anything but the notion of one man taking something from the other.

And then, just like that, it was over, and Dean let go, suddenly standing up again, a mocking smirk on his lips. "And that just put an end to the matter." He said huskily. And then he just turned and walked away, leaving Sam sitting on the ground, in shock, in pain, a little confused, and extremely embarrassed.

-;-

**A/N: This would have been finished this morning, except I happened to read something hilariously funny in the breakdown crying from laughter kind of funny or just simply break down, and afterwards found myself incapable of writing anything even in the vicinity of serious, so it took until tonight to get it finished. **

**Originally, Dean was going to be satisfied with the fact that sam was loyal and not going to rat out his friends. But then I thought, okay, maybe in the real series, maybe, Dean might've been satisfied by the loyalty. In this universe, to this Dean, loyalty is just another way for someone to stab you in the back. PLus, it was a lot more fun to have them fight each other (even if it wasn't as fun to write it).**

**I know, chapter title is lame, blame the early morning and the late night for my total lack of imagination.**

**Hope ya'll enjoyed it, please review. It might help to get the next chapter up quicker (big might though).**


	3. Confrontation

**Forever's Not Enough**

**Disclaimer**: See Prologue.

**Author's Note**: I know nothing about motorbikes (even starting one is more or less a mystery to me; I just write what I've read before, using my own words). Know this, and proceed with caution. I hope I've got the bike name right, I researched it and just finally settled on one.

**Review Answers**:Hehe, I almost forgot to answer reviews.

_Thru Terry's Eyes _- It's not just you; I'm still waiting to be alerted to all these great reviews I'm getting, lol. Good to know, I thought it was a good touch and just the sort of thing this Dean would do.

_rockchick900 _- Thanks, this soon enough?

_Spuffyshipper _- Thanks, glad you like it. This soon enough? Yeah, I used to be like that with Chris/Wyatt (I used to be like that with Sam/Dean as well). I'm not saying you'll grow into it, you may always feel grossed out by the Halliwell brothers. Just saying I understnad what you're saying. Ah, good, so I'm not the only one who hasn't waited (I didn't think I could be, but at least now I know for a fact). Ah, the sneakiness, hehe. In answer to your other review: I actually hadn't thought of that. For Lenore anyway. Although I was watching the Charmed episode "Witchness Protection" one time, and thought it would be cool of Cordy somehow ended up in Kira's body right before she was killed (with her part-demon powers she could probably fight of Zankou).

_jackyll_ - Thanks, thanks. Nice to know, yes they are. I hope this chapter doesn't ruin it (I'm a little disappointed with it, but it could just be me).

_FastFuriousChick _- Yes, Dean's a naughty boy when he wants to be. I'm glad you liked it. Yeah, I was hoping it would (as I keep saying, though, I'm worried about this chapter). Here's the update, soon enough?

_Paloma _- Good to know. Yeah, I figured that was the best way to get them to meet each other, hehe. And the kiss, yeah, I did my best to make it see mas out-of-the-blue as possible, so that it would leave Sam stunned, shocked, surprised, etc. You'll find out how it's affected him in this chapter. It's really messed with his head, hehe.

_NaturallySupernatural _- Thanks, have done, here's more.

**Chapter 2**: Confrontation

"Sam!" Jess called as she came out of her bedroom, wearing a long white dress in hood, her hair braided and then tied into two buns one on either side of her head. "Get a move on would ya? We were supposed to be there like fifteen minutes ago." She looked around the room she was in, and then went out into the hall, crossing through into the living room. "Sam! Ya comin' or what?"

"What." Sam said simply. He was sitting on the couch, staring at some lame sitcom on the television, with a bottle of beer in his hand that had long since lost its chill, dressed only in a light pair of jeans and a white t-shirt.

"Oh, come on, don't tell me you're still bummed about losing that fight with that guy," she said, walking over to him. "It was a lousy fist fight, and besides the guy probably cheated anyway."

Sam grunted in response. Jess rolled her eyes. "Come on, you seriously telling me that after all the money of your dad's that we spent on your costume, you're not coming?" he looked up at her. Yeah, that was what he'd said in a single grunt.

"I… I just don't feel like going out tonight." He said lamely. "I'm sorry, I know you were looking forward to us going together." He gave her an apologetic look. "I promise, this weekend, we'll do something, just the two of us. Something special." She frowned for a minute, narrowing her eyes at him. Then she gave a dramatic sigh.

"Well, I suppose that would make up for this… just do me a favour, okay?" she asked. Sam looked at her suspiciously, especially after she snatched the remote control up and hit the power button, switching off the TV. "If you're not coming to the party, at least don't spend the night watching TV and drinking beer. I don't want to find you passed out on the couch when I come back in the morning."

Sam smiled at her, sitting up straighter and setting his beer down on the coffee table. "Okay, I suppose I can find something else to do tonight." He said.

"Good." Jess said. She smiled, walking towards the door. "See you in the morning." And then she was gone, leaving Sam alone in the living room. He waited until he heard the front door close, and then he picked up the remote and turned the TV back on, settling back down against the couch.

Not five minutes later, he grew bored with the predictable sitcom and switched the TV off again. With a sigh, he glared at the blank screen as though it was the cause of his problems, even though he knew the real cause: Dean. What was it about that guy that, after meeting him only once, had completely unhinged Sam? Okay, maybe not completely, but he'd come home the night before, bruised face and split lip, refusing all attempts made by his stepmother to take a look at the 'grievous injuries' as she had called them, and then he'd come in here, sat down on the couch, and hadn't moved since.

Well, he'd moved a little, to the fridge a couple of times. But that was it. Nearly twenty-four hours had passed and his lips still felt like they were on fire, the same burning heat that he had felt when Dean's lips had touched his. He'd felt as though the other man had been trying to suck his soul out through his mouth (he could be a little over-dramatic sometimes). And yet…

He shook his head quickly. Those were not thoughts he wanted to spend too much time pondering.

With an irritated sigh, he got to his feet, leaving the room as if hoping his troubles wouldn't follow. When that didn't happen, he headed straight for the front door, grabbing the black leather coat hanging on the coat rack as he passed, and exited the house without looking back. If he couldn't outrun his problems, there was only one other thing he could do: drown them.

-;-

Dean smiled to himself as he eyed the young woman currently playing a bunch of men nearly twice her age out of a lot of money at the pool table. Definitely someone he could see himself spending the rest of the night with. If she ever got sick of pool, that is. Right now, he couldn't even get close to her unless he was playing a game with her (and she'd already beaten four hundred dollars out of him, so that wouldn't be happening again tonight).

Turning back to his drink, he downed the remainder of the anonymous alcohol in the glass (all he'd been told was that it was strong, and that the less he asked about it, the better he'd enjoy it).

"I'll have another one." He said to the guy behind the bar, taking out his wallet and paying for the drink he'd just had. Nodding, the bartender refilled Dean's glass. He took a sip, glancing out over the crowd.

Someone sat down next to him, but he ignored them, focusing on the woman as she leaned down to make another perfect shot at the pool table, her back to Dean.

"Whatever can lull me into a mind-numbing stupor, and then don't stop them coming until I'm passed out on the floor." Said a voice beside Dean, one he recognized. He almost choked on his drink.

"Dude, would you mind keeping it-" Sam froze mid-sentence when he saw who was sitting beside him. An indignant look came to his face, and he turned back to the bartender.

"Never mind," he said in a tight voice. "I'm going somewhere else." He got to his feet, turning and heading for the door. Rolling his eyes, Dean gulped down the remainder of his drink, the large quantity seeming to scold his throat.

"Don't bother," he said, giving the bartender the money for the drink he'd just finished. Sam stopped, turning slowly around. "I was just leaving." Dean stated, pocketing his wallet and walking past the younger man on his way to the door.

Sam turned and stared at Dean's departing form as the older man disappeared into the night outside. With an exasperated sigh, he moved forward at a brisk walk, going after Dean.

Closing the door to the nightclub behind him, Sam turned back around to glare at Dean's retreating form. "Why'd you do it?" he called. Dean stopped, turning around to face Sam with an irritated look in his eyes.

"What's your problem? I left you to drink yourself stupid, get out of my face." He snapped. Not to be scared off by someone shorter then himself (a trait that got him in trouble more often then not), Sam ran forward, put a hand on Dean's shoulder and spun him around to face him.

"Why'd you kiss me?" he demanded. Dean pushed Sam's hand off his shoulder, glaring at him.

"The same reason I punched you. You were convenient." He said, turning around and beginning to walk away again. Sam ran around in front of him.

"No, a kiss is a whole lot different from a punch," he persisted. "You don't just kiss someone because they're there."

"Maybe you don't." Dean shot back, not even bothering to look at Sam now as he tried to get away from the irritating young man. "I have sex with complete strangers every other night. Rough, hot, meaningless sex. You think an empty kiss with a strange guy who stole my car means anything to me?"

Sam stopped trying to keep up, looking a little shocked by the announcement. Dean stopped as well, finally facing Sam again. "What is it you want from me?" he demanded. "You want me to beat you up again? Is that it? Because I swear I will if you don't stop bothering me." Sam stood his ground, staring right at Dean. "Or is it something else?" he continued. "Hmm, Sammy? Maybe, you enjoyed the kiss. Maybe, you're hoping I'll give you another one?" before he could say anything else, Sam had darted forward, swinging his fist at Dean's face.

Dean caught his arm and spun him around, twisting it behind his back, and before Sam could even try and fight back, Dean had slammed him against the hood of a car, not unlike what the cops did right before they handcuffed him on the very rare occasions he'd gotten caught.

Dean leaned down close to the boy's ear as he struggled to escape from his hold. "Next time, be sure of what it is you want before you come looking for it." He hissed. "If you're not careful, you may find something you'll wish you hadn't." He let go of Sam's arm, backing up for a bit before turning and heading for the impala while Sam was still trying to figure out what he'd meant by what he said (though in truth he hadn't meant anything; it was just something complicated to get Sam thinking while he left).

Only after he was sitting in the car with the engine going and halfway out of the parking lot did he stop to notice that he was rock-hard in his jeans. It annoyed him to no end that someone so damn hot could be such a pain in the ass. On a good night, he might have tried to get someone like Sam into bed. But that was the last thing on his mind right now. No, right now all he wanted to do was find a nice, quiet, Sam-less place to get drunk and wash away all the erotic thoughts having younger man pressed against the hood of that car had brought him.

-;-

It had taken Sam a minute to recover. But when he heard the impala driving away from the nightclub, he'd managed to remember how his body worked, and had stood up, taking deep breaths and thinking about what had just happened. He hadn't intended to get into another fist fight with Dean, since he knew he couldn't win (and if he couldn't win, Sam never saw much point in trying). But when Dean had said Sam wanted another kiss, something inside of him and snapped and want to beat the guy so hard he wouldn't be able to smirk again like that for weeks. The next thing he knew, he'd been flat again the hood of a car. With Dean pressed against his body, whispering in his ear.

He shook his head. He was with Jess. For that matter, he wasn't gay. For that matter, he had no interest whatsoever in Dean. He gave himself a shake, and then turned back to the nightclub, with the intention of getting those drinks he'd intended to have when he'd arrived.

He was almost at the door when he remembered what Jess had said: _"I don't want to find you passed out on the couch when I come back in the morning."_

Sighing, he turned away from the door. _Looks like I'll have to find a different way to take my mind off things,_ he thought.

And he had just such a way waiting for him in his father's garage.

Fifteen minutes later (he'd walked to the nightclub, so he'd had to walk back), he was opening the door to the garage, looking over the four cars his father owned (none of which he was allowed to drive). He walked passed each one in turn, and then went passed them to the tarp-covered vehicle near the back of the garage.

Walking forward, he removed the tarp, revealing his black Kawasaki Z750. Grinning widly, he headed into the main part of the house to search for the keys. His father had banned him from riding the bike after a rather 'embarrassing' accident, but there were only so many places an aging lawyer could hide a set of keys, right?

Right. They were 'hidden' in the top drawer of the bedside table in his father's and stepmother's bedroom.

Keys in hand, he went back downstairs to the garage, grabbing the helmet from the top of the fridge (honestly, was his father even _trying_ to keep him from riding the bike?) as he passed through the kitchen.

Setting the helmet down on the seat of the bike, Sam quickly did up the front of his coat, and then opened the garage door with the remote control (almost every door of the house could be opened and closed with one remote or another), and pushed the bike outside. Then he went back inside, pressed a button to close it, and then ducked back outside as the door slid shut.

He strapped on the helmet, climbed onto and kicked started the bike, letting it slide down the driveway onto the street, and then turned, revving the motor a couple of times and then speeding off into the night. Speeding off, as in going at a legally slow speed.

He just rode around for a while, enjoying the feel of the night air against his face, the wind whipping against his body through his clothes. It might have been smarter to wear something thicker, but since when had Sam ever done the smart thing? Besides, he liked the feel of freedom he got when he was on his bike, and thick, warm clothes tended to take that feeling away from him.

He was surprised when he passed by an alley and saw Karl's jeep parked in it. Was that where they'd left it the morning before? He couldn't really recall, but if it was, he was pretty sure Karl would be happy to have his car back. If not, then he'd find out why Karl wasn't at the Halloween party like he'd said he would be.

Glancing around to make sure no one would hit him, he turned the back left into the alley, coming to the halt beside the car.

"Karl?" he called out. He heard movement from around the front of the car, and climbed off the bike, walking around with his helmet still on. Karl was standing there with three other men about his age. All four of them were dressed in plain black clothes, and Sam's eyes widened when he saw a semi-automatic pistol in Karl's hand.

"Sam?" Karl seemed surprised to see the younger man standing there. "Why aren't you at the Halloween party?"

"I, uh… decided not to go." Sam said. _Don't say anything stupid, don't say anything stupid._ "Karl, why do you have a gun?" _yeah, 'cause that's a real smart question to ask, Sam, _he thought sarcastically.

Karl definitely didn't seem to think so. "Well, you know, we were just…" He looked to his partners for suggestions, even though he didn't really need to; Sam already had a strong suspicion what the gun was for. "Okay, you know what, I'll cut the crap; there's a convenience store just around the block. And my friends and I are looking to make some quick cash."

This was a side of Karl Sam had suspected for a while existed but had been in a bit of denial about; true, Karl wasn't exactly the poster boy for friendship or following the rules, but he was handy to have around and he'd been hanging out with Sam, Jess and Nick since the three of them were fifteen. So Sam had naturally tried to disregard the mounting evidence against his friend. Evidence that was now staring him right in the face.

"You want to join us?" Karl asked, and he sounded almost hopeful. Sam frowned. No, he did not want to join them. He did have morals. Not many, but they were there. Stealing the car had unsettled him, but he'd done it because he felt partly responsible for losing the jeep (Sam now wondered if it had ever really been missing). Robbing a convenience store was crossing a line that Sam, despite what his father may think, was not willing to cross. The gun however, was making him increasingly nervous; it seemed like he didn't have that many options to choose from.

"Make a decision, kid." One of the other men said. Sam suppressed and look of annoyance; why did everyone assume he was a kid? He was twenty-two-years-old for crying out loud!

"N-no." He said, wishing like hell he hadn't stammered. He had been trying to sound confident. "No, I don't want to help." This time he sounded a little stronger.

"Okay," the man said, and Sam suddenly saw that he also had a gun. Karl noticed this too.

"Wait!" he shouted, darting forward as the guy pulled the trigger. Karl knocked his arm up just in time. Sam ducked as the gunshot sounded, holding his hands up to shield his face. Neither actions would have helped him had the bullet come its original course, but luckily it went shooting off into the sky somewhere.

No, scratch somewhere; a couple seconds later, it came falling back down… and with a small _thwack_, knocked one of the guys on the top of his bald head. He blinked, surprised, a small bump already welling up; clearly the bullet had picked up some speed on its descent.

"Later on I'm gonna tell you how stupid that was." Karl said, and Sam wondered if he was talking to the gunman or him. "Until then, we've got a convenience store to rob, and it would be a lot easier to do so if we already had a hostage." Sam's eyes widened. A what? Not him, he couldn't mean him. But wait, he was the only one there, so of course it was him.

Actually, Sam wondered if Karl was trying to find a way to keep him alive. He had, after all, just saved him from getting shot right then and there. Or, he could just be thinking the way he was talking; it probably would be much easier if they had Sam. Easier to get in and out anyway. Sam glanced over at the unconscious guy; no one really seemed to be paying him much notice.

"You know what I really don't like." Sam looked over in the direction of the voice, as did Karl and two of his partners. Standing over the fourth one, eyeing him in a mock-pity sort of way, was- Sam couldn't believe his eyes.

"Dean." He gasped out.

"Sammy," Dean said, ignoring him aside from that acknowledgement. "What I really don't like, are idiots who think they can push other people around because they've got a couple of guns on them."

"Yeah, well, as you just pointed out, we're the ones with the guns," the large man growled, turning from Karl to face Dean. "You've just got a whole lot of trouble."

"Well, no, not actually." Dean said with a shrug. Sam suddenly realized something; Dean was drunk. Not so much that he was slurring his words or unsteady on his feet, but drunk enough to be doing things… not so smart. "You see, you may have guns, but I have-" He was cut off as the smaller of the three men Karl was with charged forward and tackled him to the ground.

Sam saw Karl pointing the gun towards Dean, and without really thinking, he ran at Karl. Too late. The older man pulled the trigger at Dean and the gunshot rang out. The next second, Karl was on the ground beneath Sam, the gun thrown from his grip.

Holding Karl's arms down with one of his own, Sam lifted himself just enough to get a clear shot, and elbowed the older man in the back of the head as hard as could. Karl stopped struggling and, wincing slightly at the pain that shot up his arm when his elbow had connected with Karl's head, Sam pushed himself to his feet.

He looked over to where Dean was, and his eyes widened in shock when as saw a small pool of blood beginning to well up beside Dean. He froze up, his breath catching in his throat, eyes locked with Deans, held by the pain that filled the older man's eyes.

-;-

**A/N: Yeah, I rewrote some of the ending. Between one reviewer saying the ending of this chapter was awkward (which I totally agree with, I just lacked the proper word) and another giving me what I consider constructive criticism about my gun use (which, again, I thought was kind of awkward anyway), I decided I could do better. I am happier with the ending now. I'll answer the chapter three reviews in the next chapter.**


	4. Heat

**Forever's Not Enough**

**Disclaimer**: See Prologue.

**Author's Note**: I re-wrote the some of the last chapter's ending, starting where the pigeon was originally shot, and changing some part from there on. As per suggestion of one of the reviewers, I left the poor pigeon out of it; I hope the new direction of the bullet is as good as the original.

And let me just say that I hope this chapter turns out alright. I had some trouble with it.

**Review Answers**: (Stares)… lots… and lots… of reviews. Thanks for all the great reviews guys. I hope I haven't missed anyone, I'm not used to having _FOURTEEN_ reviews on a single chapter. Had to shout that out and thank every one of those fourteen people. Now, on to the answers.

_Deadlove Calling_ – Thanks, yay, here's the update. I hope it's soon enough.

_Thu Terry's Eyes _– I totally agree, which is why I ended up re-writing some of the ending. If you want, you can check it out (if not, there's only one small change that would affect this chapter, but I don't know if anyone would even notice).

Who got shot? Read on and find out.

_Taiven _– Thanks, pleased you like them. Don't really know how to respond to all the other good stuff you said… how's "I'm glad you're enjoying the story so much, here's some more"? Hope that works well, lol.

_fairyntoad14 _– Good, good, thank you. Yeah, cliffhangers are _soooo _much fun to write. Hehe.

_pandora jazz_ – No problem, I know the feeling. Yeah, I'm doing my best with the posting. I do everything in m power to keep the updates coming. I'm glad you like them, I do my very best. Thanks, here's what happens next. Hope it turns out okay.

_darkangel36_ – Thanks, here's more. Soon enough?

_Winchesters-Shadow_ – Thanks, nice of you to say (always nice when people contradict me when I say my work isn't good). Yes, Sam has a motorbike, hehe. I couldn't resist.

_Wolf-of-Insanity_ – Thanks, I hope this update was soon enough. Here's what happens.

_JRAismine_ – Preaching and rambling is perfectly acceptable (I do the latter a lot myself). If not for yours, I wouldn't have fixed up the previous chapter (okay, fixed up may be the wrong word; edited is better). If you want, you can re-read it, and if you do, I hope it's better.

_The Emerald Phoenix_ – Thanks, he'll live. Probably. You never know with those two. Just kidding. Lol, it lives again! Because it now no longer exists (see chapter two ending to understand).

_Spuffyshipper_ – Thanks, have done. Yeah, nothing ever seems to go right for them.

_FastFuriousChick_ – Maybe (does the shifty-eyes thing). You'll have to read on to find out. Thanks, glad you liked. And yeah, one of my favourite things for Sam; mental/emotional torment. Very mild compared to what I can do (innocent whistling). Yes, the bike! No one ever said daddy dearest was smart. And he spends so little time with Sam, I wouldn't be surprised if he thought he was still five-foot-ten. Karl, yes, well, don't condemn the man yet (for that crime anyway, I'm sure you could find something else if you really wanted to). By it… what do you mean? (Glances nervously downward chapter-wise).

_jackyll_ – Thanks, yeah, that's why I made it, to kill people, you've discovered my secret plot. Thanks, I was a little unsure about it… definitely some interaction in this chapter… Yeah, poor Sammy's in denial about a lot of things. Here's the next chapter. Thanks.

_Miss Meehan_ – Thanks, yes, it does help a lot to fix things (I only re-wrote the ending of that chapter cause I was unhappy with it; chances are I wouldn't have if I liked it). Yes, enough about you, let talk about me (smiles sweetly). Yes, you have, glad I'm still doing well (I am, aren't I?). Oh, yay, exactly what I wanted to here! I'm tempted to jump up and down, but that wouldn't work very well where I'm sitting. Yes, Sammy doesn't seem to have much luck with a father no matter what universe he's in. Yes, no bed jumping after the first meeting. Er… how are you on third meetings? This is Dean we're talking about after all…

**Chapter 3**: Heat

"You… you shot me." The short guy gasped out, jumping off of Dean and turning an accusing look at Karl, only to see him lying unconscious underneath Sam.

Dean groaned, putting a hand beneath his head where it had slammed into the concrete. "Note to self: Pay more attention to the other guy." He muttered, sitting up. He glanced around, and his eyes widened. "Sam, the gun!" He shouted, seeing the semi-automatic lying abandoned where it had fallen when Sam had tackled Karl. Short Guy was busy having a panic attack, but Tall Guy wasn't. He dove for the gun.

Sam was smaller (stop and marvel at that for a moment) then him, but he was also faster, and he leapt forward from his position on top of Karl, snatching up and gun and coming back to his feet, spinning and pointing it at Tall Guy.

Who laughed mockingly at him. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me," he said, still laughing at Sam. "Do you even know how to shoot that thing?" He asked.

Dean narrowed his eyes. He could see Sam hesitating, his hands shaking as he held the gun pointed at the other man's chest, the fear in his eyes, and Dean realized that Sam didn't know how to fire the gun. Or at least, he didn't know how to fire it properly. Tall Guy obviously wasn't as perceptive as Dean, however, because despite his mocking, he didn't move.

"Drop the weapon and put your hands in the air!"

Three pairs of eyes shot in the direction of the voice. There stood five cops, all of them wearing bullet proof vests, and all of them with their guns out and trained on Sam. The young man's eyes widened, and the gun fell from his hand as if it had burned him as he raised his hands.

"Okay, now step back from the gun, slowly, and keep your hands up." The cop furthest in front said. Sam nodded, taking a few steps back away from the gun.

"Hey, watch it." Dean said as Sam almost trod on him. Sam gave startled yelp, and spun around, seeing Dean sitting up on the ground behind him. The cops tensed as Sam got too close to Dean, but the older man held his hands up. "Whoa, wait, he's…" He took a moment to reconsider the word he'd been about to use. "He didn't break any laws just now." Sam looked from Dean, still on the ground behind him, over to the cops, their guns still pointed at him. "Unless taking a gun to keep a potential robber from shooting the two of us counts as breaking the laws."

There were a couple of surprised looks meeting this statement, and a couple of sceptical ones. Dean looked up at Sam, whose head was tilted slightly to the side, like he was listening to something. Then he looked directly at the cops, as if suddenly remembering something.

"You can check my hands for powder residue." He said. "You saw I was holding the gun, and you no doubt heard the shots. But you won't find any residue." He pointed to Karl and Tall Guy, the former starting to recover from the blow to his head Sam had dealt him. "Those two, however, will both have residue on their hands." Dean was surprised; the guy knew almost nothing about how to hold a gun, let alone fire it, and yet he seemed to understand how to find out whether someone had fired one or not easily enough. He'd probably seen it on some cop show or another.

Either way, he seemed to have convinced the cops, or at least they believed him enough for one of them to be sent back to find some light or something to look at Sam's hands with.

-;-

Fifteen minutes later, Sam was clear of any possible accusations, Karl and his three partners were being carted off either to the hospital of the police station, and Sam and Dean were just giving their statements.

"Okay, if we have any more questions, we'll be in contact." Said the female cop after Sam and Dean had both given her their contact details. She glanced over at Dean, who still looked a little drunk, despite the rather sobering situation they'd just been in. "You might went to get your friend home." She said.

"He's not my friend." Sam and Dean said at the same time. The woman looked from one man to the other, and shook her head.

"Whatever, just get out of here. And you…" She added, looking straight at Sam. He tried to look innocent. He failed miserably. "You better keep your nose out of trouble."

"What about the rest of me?" Sam asked innocently. Dean let out a snort of laughter, and the woman looked ready to burst of blood vessel. Either that or beat her head against the wall. She settled for a fuming look, a shake of the head, and then turned on her heel and walked promptly away from the two young men.

Left on their own, Sam and Dean stood beside each other, neither really willing to look at the other.

Finally, Sam let out a muttered "Thanksforsavingme." Dean blinked, and looked over at the younger man.

"What?" He asked.

"Thanks… for saving me."

"That sounded painful."

"Do you have to be so…?"

"So…?"

"So infuriating?" Sam demanded.

"In every way," Dean confirmed. With an exasperated sigh, Sam shook his head, turning towards his bike (the jeep had been driven away by one of the cops). He was just grabbing his helmet when he heard Dean's voice, "Sammy."

Sighing at the nickname, he turned around to face Dean. "Yes?" He said in a stiff voice.

"You're welcome."

Sam was so surprised he forgot to look indignant. He actually gave a small smile, and then returned to strapping on his helmet.

"Hey, Sammy." Dean said again, and Sam sagged just as he was about to kick-start the bike. He looked over at the older man.

"Yes, Dean." He said.

"Could I get a ride back to the motel?"

"That sounded painful." Sam said with a grin.

"Just give me a ride, jerk."

Still grinning, Sam reached back and unhooked the helmet strapped onto the seat behind him, and held it out to Dean. "Hop on, bitch." He said. Wearing a bit of a goofy grin, Dean moved forward, taking the helmet and putting it on.

"Alright, Sammy," he said, climbing onto the bike behind Sam. "Mush." He ordered. Sam looked over his shoulder at Dean, an eyebrow raised. "Move, boy, move." Sighing, Sam kick-started the bike, grinning wildly as the motor came to life.

"Hold on." He said, revving the motor. And then they rode forwards down the alley, made a sharp U-turn, and headed back out onto the road. Sam flicked on the headlights, the sun well and truly down by now, and then they sped off down the road.

With a mischievous grin that no one else could see, he sped up a just a little bit more (bending the speed limit a little), and felt an odd comfort as Dean's arms tightened around his chest, the other man surprised by the sudden increase in speed.

The ride was over all-too quickly, as they reached the motel parking lot, and Sam pulled into the parking space beside Dean's impala (the older man must've walked to whatever club he'd drank at before coming to Sam's rescue). With a sigh, Sam killed the motor, and looked over his shoulder.

"And here we are." He said. Dean let go of Sam rather suddenly, as if only just realizing he was holding onto him. Clearing his throat loudly, the older man climbed quickly off the bike, backing away from him. "Dean."

"Yeah?"

"The helmet?" Sam asked.

"Hm? What?" He blinked, and then seemed to remember. "Oh, right." He took it off, handing it back to Sam. Their fingers brushed for the briefest of seconds, Sam flinched, and the helmet dropped to the ground, making an all-too-loud crashing sound.

Both men stood stock still, neither one willing to lean down to pick up the helmet on the off chance the other was going to do that. And neither one willing to look the other directly in the eyes.

"Oh, screw it." Dean said huskily. Without warning, he took Sam's head in his hand, pushed the younger man down against the seat of his bike, and pressed their lips together hungrily.

Sam's first instinct was to try and push Dean off of him. It was one thing to kiss him in some twisted way of getting payback, it was another to kiss him for no reason except to satisfy his own urges. So, try he did. Dean grabbed his wrists as he tried to push him off, holding them out and away from him, deepening the kiss, pressing their bodies together, each slight movement sending disturbing messages to Sam's crotch. Finally, Sam gave up trying to fight it and gave _in_ to Dean.

Feeling Sam's weak attempts at fighting back cease, Dean moved his hands beneath Sam (and not giving a damn if anyone was watching) and pulled back, breathing heavily against Sam's face. Sam gulped, not really sure what he was getting himself into, and finding that he really didn't care.

He pushed Dean back, sitting up and climbing off the bike. He had enough sense to take the keys out of the ignition and slide them into his jeans pocket, and then all sense gave way to desire as he threw his arms around Dean and their lips met once again. He pushed Dean backwards, kissing him harder then he ever would've dreamed with Jess, and then Dean was against the wall.

Dean spun them around, throwing Sam against the wall so hard all the air was knocked from the younger man's lungs and he pulled his head back from Dean as he tried to recover his breath. Not giving Sam a chance, Dean pulled him back away from the wall, and then proceeded to steer him toward the room he staying at, whether Sam could walk there on his own or not.

The door was lucky Dean managed to get the key into the lock without letting go of Sam (he seemed to think the younger man would bolt if given half the chance), or else it probably would've gotten kicked down. Pushing Sam into the room, he closed the door behind him and locked it with the key, cutting off any means of escape, and then tossed the key in some random direction.

Their boots and socked were the first to be discarded, boots sailing off in different directions and hitting the walls with small _thumps_. Then came their jackets, falling to the floor in a pile of brown and black leather. Next was Dean's shirt (what use did he have for buttons anyway?) and Sam's t-shirt. They were slowly but surely leaving a trail of clothing on their unhurried journey from the door to the bed.

Dean's t-shirt hit the floor just as Sam was pushed down onto the bed, his head hitting the pillows, and then Dean was down on top of him, mouth and tongue toying with his neck.

"Dude, you've got no underwear." Dean muttered against his neck. Sam suddenly became aware that Dean had been undoing his jeans. He grinned as his erected organ pressed against Dean's stomach.

"Are you complaining?" He asked, cupping the back of Dean's head with his hand as he leaned over and found Dean's earlobe with his tongue.

"Not likely." Dean moaned out. He helped Sam kick pull his jeans down, lips moving down from his neck as he did so. The jeans fell at the end of the bed, joining Dean's t-shirt, and then he was moving back up again, his lips making a path up Sam's body, starting just below his bellybutton, moving slowly up over his abs, to his chest. Sam's back arched beneath Dean as he lay spread eagled beneath the older man, moaning gently as Dean's tongue touched the hollow of his neck, moved up to the base of his neck, trailing his jaw-line…

Sam couldn't help it; Dean was just too good. He came right there between the two of them, and he reached up and wrapped his arms around Dean, one around his chest and the other against the back his neck, holding the older man down as if afraid he'd stop. Dean smiled against Sam's neck and, ignoring the sticky fluid coating his stomach, moved his attentions back to Sam's lips.

"Dean?" Sam gasped out between kiss, his eyes closed.

"Yeah, Sammy."

"Why the… hell are your… jeans still on?" Dean's smile returned and he pulled back, much to Sam's disappointment. Sam didn't mind showing his disappointment on his face as he opened his eyes again.

"Just say the word, Sammy." He said.

"Word, Sammy."

"Very cute."

"I like to think so." Sam said in a child-like voice. His hands were already fumbling with Dean's belt buckle, and Dean grinned, reaching down with one hand to help him. After a lot of fumbling, and not just with the buckle, the belt was undone, and Dean undid the button and zipper of his jeans, pulling his jeans and boxers down to his knees.

He leaned right down; his body pressed against Sam's so hard Sam found some difficulty breathing. But he sucked it up and relaxed as Dean's hot breath assaulted his ear.

"Roll over." Dean whispered hoarsely. Not needing to be told twice, Sam moved as smoothly and as swiftly as he could. Meaning, his shoulder knocked Dean's as he turned over and almost knocked the older man off the bed.

"Sorry." He muttered as they tried to untangle themselves from each other. "Don't be." Dean said breathily. And then Sam was on all fours, and seconds later, he felt a strange, only-slightly uncomfortable sensation as Dean entered him. Then Dean pulled back a little, and then thrust all the way in, sending a much different sensation racing through Sam's body.

Each thrust enticed either a moan or a whimper from Sam's lips, depending how hard (no pun intended) Dean pushed him, and also how tightly Dean's fingers clasped his shoulder (Sam was definitely going to wake up with some bruises in the morning).

And then, just when Sam thought he couldn't take it anymore, Dean's orgasm erupted inside of him and Sam really wasn't sure if he moaned, whimpered, or did something in between at that. He just felt so… so strange. It was a familiar feeling, but different at the same time.

And then Dean's presence inside of him was gone, and he felt a strange sense of being empty. Then all thoughts of sense were abruptly knocked from him as Dean collapsed on top of him. Sam laid there for a minute, with Dean's perspiring body against his, the older man's hot breath against his neck. And then he started laughing. Dean leaned up just enough to cast a confused glance at Sam, not that Sam could see it.

"What's so funny?" He asked.

"Just… this…" Sam said, still laughing. "This… this situation… I mean, I just had sex… with another guy…"

"Something wrong with that?" Dean asked. Sam stopped laughing, wondering if there was. Or if he'd offended Dean. Then he started wondering what the hell he was doing there. He was involved with Jess; he couldn't go around sleeping with other people, let alone another-

Dean's lips against his neck halted those thoughts, and he smiled, a small shiver escaping him. Then Dean rolled off of him, onto the bed that wasn't really big enough for the two of them. Smiling contentedly, Sam rolled over as well, and felt Dean's arm encircle him. With a small sigh, he rested his head against Dean's shoulder, and the two of them drifted off into a deep sleep.

-;-

When Dean woke up the next morning, all evidence that Sam had been there was gone.

-;-

**A/N: Okay, so I hope I didn't rush into that too fast. I was going to leave the sex for a while, but… it just fit too easily into this chapter. Besides, sex doesn't automatically mean relationship (especially for Sam and Dean). I also hope I didn't get too graphic (two worries with that; one, I have know idea what I'm writing, so for all I know it could completely wrong; two, I just don't know how in depth I can go without scaring off some of the readers).**

**Oh, and with the whole Short Guy and Tall Guy thing, I just got sick of referring to them as _the _short guy, etc. It just easier to name them their height. And I've seen it done in books (though most often it's an article of their clothing), so it's okay. I think.**

**Hope ya'll enjoyed it. Or tolerated it at least. Until next time, cyas.**


	5. Somewhere to Call My Sanctuary

**Forever's Not Enough**

**Disclaimer**: See Prologue.

**Author's Note**: Explanation on chapter title: I was having a lot of trouble thinking of one, and I just happened to be listening to Delta Goodrem's song 'Sanctuary'. The bit between Sam and his friend (I won't spoil who it is) just seemed to fit the words, and thus the chapter title came to be.

As a lot lately, I was too lazy to send this to my beta. Apologies for all mistakes.

**Review Answers**: So many… I'm not used to it. Thanks again. Hope I haven't missed anyone in my answers.

_FastFuriousChick _– Same here. Sam's an idiot. But I still love him. Ah, yes, Dean and Cassie. I tried to use that scene for inspiration. It didn't help, so I moved on to Buffy, where I watched Willow and Kennedy…

Yes, someone did as I'd hope, hehe. I thought it would be funny if Sam was actually smaller then someone.

_Deadlove Calling_ – Thanks. Yes, Sammy's bad and left Dean on his lonesome. Anyone wanna take his place?

_THE someone_ – Oh, yay! Twisted Love, in my opinion, is my best written work, fan or fiction (if that makes sense).

Well, while it wasn't an actual reference, I did have Cordy, Wes and Gunn singing that song in my head for quite some time, so I decided it'd be fun if Jess, Nick and Sam sang it, even if it wasn't just remembered. So yes, points to you for recognizing it.

Oh, yay, thanks. Yes, you did. You may continue to do so (hehe).

_inu-kaglover45_ – Thanks (bows).

_Thru Terry's Eyes_ – Yeah. Thanks.

_wcfan_ – Thanks. Since that wasn't negative, I'm happy. And I hope you enjoy, even if it is a bit weird.

_fairyntoad14 _– Yay. Good to know. Another yay, hope you continue to love and enjoy this story.

_Rose of No Man's Land_ – Yay, yay, yay! Okay, don't worry, I have simply misplaced my sanity somewhere. Agreed, real life can be quite a downer. Oh, I'm glad now too. You're welcome. Fantastic? Moi? Thank you, always good to hear such kind words from author's as brilliant as ye. Yes, feel bad for Jess, poor girl stands no chance next to Dean. I'm not sure whether I'll kill her like they did in the show, or if I'll just have a heartbreaking break-up for her and Sam. Any suggestions?

Yes, John is a better person with only one son. I wonder how he'll react, though, when he finds out his only son is in a relationship with another man. Bets, anyone?

Yes, go the rebellious Sam! Yay, love the rating, thank you, thank you, thank you (I'm just filling up space, aren't I?). Thanks, I was a little concerned about the sex, but people seem to have taken it pretty well. No, he certainly won't. Sam, on the other hand, wants to forget it as soon as possible (read on to learn more).

_Spuffyshipper_ – Thanks, have done. Soon enough?

_Maygin_ – Yay, first guilty-pleasure reader. I know I shouldn't enjoy your suffering, but between my missing sanity and my already twisted mind, can you hold it against me? Plus, I like having readers, so the reason they read doesn't really bother me, so long as they (at least appear to) enjoy it. Okay, I hope I didn't sound self-centred there, and I really hope you're enjoying this story.

_anon_ – Good to know. Great sense of humour? People keep surprising me by telling me all these great things about myself I never knew existed. I mean, I knew I could be funny if I tried and we really don't want ot be talking about me, do we?

Hot, yes, good word. Yes, I have, they do tend to get a bit graphic, don't they? I try to keep mine as clean as possible while still being realistic. And not disgustingly detailed. And as I've said numerous times, I've no experience, so I wouldn't know about preparation and the like, lol.

_pandora jazz_ – No, you didn't miss it. Fight scene was a bit different, and Dean wasn't drunk in the original (I just thought the way he was behaving would fit a bit better if he was a little drunk).

Yeah, least they could do, since they just saved each other's asses in a life-or-death fight.

I'm glad you're still reading, and I'm glad you're enjoying, even though the fact that they're not related is merely because the author decreed it so. Isn't that strange? Not that I'm trying to turn you off or question you or anything like that, I just find it interesting that it's so much easier to read it when they're not brother, even though they were created as brothers, and they're canonically (right word?) brothers.

Yeah, you've hit the nail just about on the head there.

And thanks for pointing that out. I checked the ratings guide, and sex, as far as I can tell, falls into the M category. Hmmm. M should only be read be sixteen years and older. And the author of this M rated story is fifteen. Don't know the relevance in that, but thought it worth mentioning, lol. What's this other AU fic? I'm reading a couple, but if this is one I haven't read I wouldn't mind checking it out.

_Wolf-of-Insanity _– Good to know. I'll do my best. Don't worry about it, the review itself is enough. The fact your reviews are more then three words is even better. Read on and enjoy, faithful reviewer (goes of to search for sanity).

**Chapter 4**: Somewhere to Call My Sanctuary

Sam was used to waking up at five in the morning, with or without an alarm clock. And he was used to sneaking out of the house without letting any of the other occupants know he was doing so. Both these skills proved invaluable to him when he woke up and found himself lying next to Dean, in the same bed, both of them completely naked.

Being as careful as possible, he slipped out of the bed. He remembered what had happened the night before, and that he'd enjoyed it, no point in denying that. What he couldn't remember, what he couldn't understand, was what had made him to do it in the first place. The moments leading up to it were a blur; the last thing he could clearly recall was Dean climbing off the bike. Whatever had happened between Dean pinning him to the bike seat and Dean throwing him down onto the bed was anyone's guess.

Rather then wasting time trying to piece together what he was missing from the night before, Sam had set about getting dressed, as quickly and as quietly as possible. Barely five minutes later, he'd found the keys Dean had tossed carelessly at the wall, and quietly let himself out, leaving the keys in the lock on the inside of the door.

The sun was yet to rise outside, but that suited Sam perfectly. He didn't really want anyone (as unlikely as it was) to see him leaving Dean's motel room. Somehow he was sure if someone did see him, it was get back to Jess faster then he could blink.

The ride back to his father's house was uneventful. It continued to be uneventful as he rode past it. No one was home- his father and stepmother being out of town until later that day- and Sam didn't really want to stay in a big empty house right at that moment. So he continued on for a little while, eventually pulling up by the sidewalk, in front of a payphone. Not really thinking about what time it was, he climbed off his bike, took some coins out of his wallet, and dropped them into the coin slot. He dialled the number, and waited for a couple of seconds as it rang, before someone answered.

"_Who'sit?_" asked a tired voice.

"Rebecca, is that you?" Sam asked.

"_Sam?_" Rebecca asked.

"Yeah, it's… it's me." He said. Rebecca, or Becky, as Sam often called her, was one of his few long-time friends who had not been 'corrupted', as his father so often put it. Despite the fact she had finished school, had gone onto college, and was now engaged, she was one of his closest friends, and when in doubt, he always turned to her for reassurance, despite the fact he had a girlfriend who could probably do just as good a job.

"_Jeez, Sam, it's twenty-past-five._" Rebecca groaned. "_This had better be good._" Sam laughed hollowly.

"Yeah, since when is anything good when I call you at twenty-past-five in the morning?" he asked. Swallowing, he continued, "Something happened last night. Between me and… someone else." His voice shook only slightly when he said that. Which was probably what prompted Rebecca to ask:

"_Are you alright?_" the tiredness in her voice was now replaced by concern.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Sam said. "It wasn't like that, it was just…" He searched for the right words, couldn't find them. "Look, I really need someone to talk to right now." There was a tired sigh on the other end of the line.

"_Alright, then, your place or mine?_" came the response. Sam couldn't help but smile. Good old Becky, always there when he needed her.

"I'll be there in about five minutes." He said.

"_I'll put the coffee on._" Rebecca said, and then she hung up.

Placing the receiver back down, Sam grabbed his helmet off the top of the payphone and put it back on as he returned to his bike, climbing on and starting it up again.

Once again, Sam found himself thinking he should've worn thicker clothing while riding. Of course, it was rare for him to go riding so early in the morning, but still… The cool night air against him was one thing; the dead cold of before dawn was another thing entirely, and something Sam had failed to take into account when he'd chosen his attire the night before.

Luckily, it didn't take him long to reach Rebecca's house. Bringing the bike to a stop at the very top of the driveway, Sam switched it off and took out the keys, dropping them in a pocket of his jacket and walking up to the front door. Barely a second after he'd started knocking, the door opened and there stood Rebecca, dressed in a warm plum-coloured dressing-gown, a steaming mug of coffee in her hand.

"Could you have been any louder?" She asked, without any real anger in her voice. She backed up so that Sam could walk in, and closed the door behind him.

Sam was immediately hit by the warmth that filled the house, feeling quite clearly the dramatic increase in temperature. He stripped off his jacket and hung it on the coat-rack, took his shoes off, and then followed Rebecca into her living room, where a second mug sat on a coaster on the coffee table, waiting for Sam.

"Thanks." He said, picking up the mug as he sat down on the couch. He took a sip, decided it was too hot for the moment, and set it back down. A few seconds later, Rebecca sat down beside him, a warm smile on her face.

"Hey, it's no problem. If nothing else, at least I'll be awake when Brian gets home," she said. Brian was her fiancé.

"Yeah, what time is he due back?" Sam asked. "I don't want to intrude on your reunion."

Rebecca gave him a grateful smile, but said, "Don't you worry about intruding. He won't be home for another half hour at least, and even if he was, he'd understand."

"You're sure?" Sam asked. Setting her mug down, Rebecca put her arms around Sam, and he sank thankfully into her warm embrace.

"Positive." She said. After a few seconds, she pulled back. "Now, what was it you wanted to talk about?" Sam stared at her for a long minute, and she just sat, waiting. Then, before he could convince himself to say something else, Sam found himself spewing the entire story, starting from when he'd first met Dean in the alley, right up to that morning when he'd woken up beside Dean.

Once he started, he just couldn't stop; it all came out in a single, emotional, rather messy revelation. Rebecca nodded at some pointed, smiled reassuringly at others, put a hand on his shoulder when he looked like he needed it. One thing she didn't do, and Sam was grateful for it, was judge him. After all, she was as much Jess's friend as Sam's, and Sam was admitting that he had cheated on Jess the night before, with another man no less.

Luckily, Rebecca was never one to judge someone for their mistakes (having made more then her fair share in her life), and while she probably didn't condone what he'd done, she could see how much Sam regretted it, and how confused he was by it. He already knew he'd screwed up; Rebecca telling him to his face would just be rubbing salt in his still-fresh wounds.

A long silence followed the completion of Sam's retelling of the last couple of days, broken only by the occasional sounds made as they sipped their coffees. Finally, Rebecca spoke, "Do you have feelings for him?"

"No!" Sam snapped. Rebecca raised an eyebrow at him, and he sighed, closing his eyes. "I mean… no, I don't… maybe… I don't know." He rested his face against his hands. "I just… every time I'm near him it's I can't think straight. The rest of the world just… doesn't matter." He looked up at Rebecca. "There's something wrong with me, right? I mean… I love Jess; you know that, I know that. And then… _he_ shows up out of nowhere and suddenly…" He shook his head. "No… no, I love Jess." He announced, trying to sound convincing. "Only Jess. Dean was… he was just a mistake that…" Even to him that didn't sound convincing. And it sounded a bit corny as well. With another sigh, he looked hopelessly at Rebecca. "What do you think I should do?" He asked.

Rebecca leaned back, her brow furrowed as she thought. Finally, she turned back to Sam. "You're not going to like it," she said.

"Tell me." Sam said. Anything was better then the big nothing he had right now.

"Okay, if you really want my opinion," Rebecca said, "I think you should tell Jess what happened." Sam's head sagged at those words, but Rebecca had more to say. "Trust me, it'll hurt you both a lot more if you don't tell her now and she finds out later from someone else."

Looking up, Sam could see the genuine concern in her eyes, the desire to help. He smiled sadly. "You really think it's the right thing?" he asked.

After a couple of seconds of hesitation, Rebecca nodded. "I do." She said.

Sam looked away, trying to hide the tears of frustration and guilt that were building up in his eyes. Hesitantly, Rebecca placed a hand on his shoulder, and he leaned back into her, sniffling as the tears began to trickle down his face.

"This is… good, I suppose…" She said cautiously. "At least you feel bad about what you did." Sam gave a hollow laugh as she stroked his hair, one arm wrapped comfortingly around his chest.

"Yeah, that'll go down well," he said. "'Hi, Jess. I cheated on you with a _man _that I don't even know, but I feel really bad about it. Will you forgive me?'"

Rebecca didn't stop stroking, just smiled sadly. "You never know… she might… after the initial hurt." She said. Sam couldn't help but smile at her attempt at optimism. He looked up at his friend, wiping the tears from his eyes.

"Thanks, Becky." He said, sitting up slowly. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Crash and burn, every other day." Rebecca said jokingly. Sam laughed, still wiping his eyes again.

"Yeah, probably." He said, looking over at her. There were a few minutes of silence before either of them said anything.

"You should probably get going." Rebecca finally said. Sam nodded.

"Yeah, uh… right, yeah." He said, getting to his feet. He was almost out of the living room when he stopped and looked over his shoulder. "I meant it. Thanks, for getting up at five-twenty to listen to my bleeding heart."

"It's no problem," Rebecca said. "Now get going." She added.

"Right. See you later." Sam said. And then he left, grabbing his jacket and pulling on his shoes at the door.

The bike was right where he'd left it some twenty or thirty minutes previous, and he felt more then ready to get back on it and go back to his father's house, empty or not.

-;-

Sam had intended to tell Jess. He really had. He'd waited until a more appropriate hour. When that time came, he'd picked up the cordless phone and dialled her number and everything (he wasn't going to tell her on the phone, but he thought it would be better to call her first). Then her mother's voice on answering machine picked up.

"_Hi, this is the Moore residence. You know the drill._"

"Hi, Jess, it's Sam." He said. "I… uh, I just called to… because… well…" _Finish a sentence, you idiot, _he thought angrily to himself. "How was the party?" _Wimp._ "No, that wasn't what I called about-" Before he could finish that sentence, the machine beeped and he was cut off. His mouth remained open, but no sound came out.

The doorbell ringing through the house startled him from his semi-catatonic state, and he jumped nearly a foot in the air, the phone falling from his hand and hitting the floor with a small crash.

As soon as his heart rate returned to normal, Sam bent down to pick the phone up, setting it back on its base. Then he turned around and went to the front door, opening it up to see-

"Jess." He said, surprised to see his girlfriend standing in front of him, wearing the same halter-top and pants she'd worn a couple of days earlier.

"Hi, Sam." She said. "Sorry this isn't a social call." She let herself in.

"Oh, uh, okay." Sam said, turning around to face her. "What, uh, kind of call is it then?" He asked.

"My brother showed up last night," Jess answered. Sam cringed; her brother was alright, a reasonably nice guy, but he was a tad accident prone, and so Sam tried to avoid him whenever possible. "And wouldn't you know it; he brought someone else's suitcase with him from the airport." Sam wasn't sure whether to laugh or groan when he heard that. "Anyway, I was hoping I could borrow some of your clothes; none of the clothes in the suitcase fit him, and you're the only person I know who's even close to his size."

_Clothes, _Sam thought. _She came here to ask me about clothes._ He faked a smile and hoped it worked. "Why can't he just wear the ones he already had on when he arrived?" He asked.

"The reason behind that involves mud. Do you want to know anything else?" Jess asked.

"No, I don't think I do." Sam said, shaking his head. "Any preferences?" He asked. Jess grinned, and Sam noticed her gaze trailing down his body. "For your brother, not of me." He said, his smile faltering slight.

"Ruin my fun, why don't you." Jess said jokingly. "Okay, just some everyday clothes. You know, something you've worn before. He has this thing about not wearing anything brand new." Sam chuckled.

"Like I'd lend him anything brand new." He said. "I'll be right back." He said, and turned towards the stairs, running up them two at a time. Guilt twisted his stomach into knots, but he ignored it. There was a time to tell Jess about what he'd done, but he'd already convinced himself that now was not that time.

Sam returned back downstairs not three minutes later, a blue t-shirt, green hooded sweater and a pair of old jeans draped over one arm.

"Will these do?" He asked, showing Jess the clothes.

"Perfect." She said. "Thanks." She held up a bag, and Sam squeezed the clothes into it. "See you later, Sam."

Sam watched she turned toward the door. Now, he had to tell her now. Rebecca was right; it would just hurt more if he waited.

And then she was out the door and he decided his chance was lost. With a sigh, he turned away from the door and headed back towards the stairs, deciding to change into clothes that were better suited to the cold weather outside (a t-shirt, jeans and a leather coat just didn't cut it).

About fifteen minutes later, the phone rang. He raced back downstairs, pulling up his trousers as he did so (it took him a little while to decide what to wear). He snatched up the phone and hit one of the buttons.

"Adams household." He said.

"_Sam?_"

"Jess?" Sam asked, surprised. "Is that you?"

"_Yeah, uh… Sam…_" She sounded breathless, and a little panicked. "_Sam, someone's been in the house._"

"Someone? What, you mean they broke in?" Sam asked.

"_Something like that… I called the police. Could you… I was hoping that…_"

"I'll be right over." Sam said, all thoughts of guilt and the night before banished from his mind, replaced by concern for his girlfriend.

"_Thanks,_" Jess said. "_Hurry._"

"Ten minutes, tops," Sam said, and then he hung up.

-;-

Jess was standing out the front of her house as Sam pulled up on his bike, a police car parked out on the street. Ignoring the cop, Sam went straight to Jess, wrapping his arms around her. She fell into his embrace gratefully, wrapping her own arms tightly around his chest.

"Are you alright?" He asked.

"Yeah, they came in while I was in the shower," Jess said. "They were gone again by the time I got out."

"Excuse me, sir." Sam looked over at the voice and cringed. "Well, Mr. Adams, why am I not surprised." It was the same woman he'd seen in the alley the night before, the same one who always seemed to be on duty when he was involved with something.

"Sam's here just for support." Jess said, narrowing her eyes at the cop. Eyeing Sam warily, the woman nonetheless turned her attention back to Jess.

"Miss Moore," she began, "I know you haven't had much of a chance to check your belongings, but did you notice anything missing when you got out of the shower?"

Jess frowned, thinking hard, before shaking her head. "Aside from the clothes in the washing basket, no." She said.

"'Clothes in the washing basket'?" Sam asked. Jess nodded.

"Yeah," she said. "I have to pick my brother up from the airport in a couple of hours, so I decided to have a shower and get changed before-"

"Wait, what?" Sam suddenly realized what she'd just said. "In a couple of hours?" Jess nodded, and Sam suddenly felt really unnerved. "Okay, Jess, I need you to tell me, did you come visit me about twenty minutes ago, asking to borrow some clothes for your brother?" Jess frowned, and shook her head.

"No, about twenty minutes ago I was in the shower." She said. Sam's brow furrowed.

"Let me guess; it was your black halter top and pants in the laundry basket?" He asked. Slowly, Jess nodded. The cop was looking from Sam, to Jess, back to Sam.

"How did you know that?" Jess asked. Sam didn't answer. His mind was too busy trying to comprehend what he had seen less then half an hour earlier.

-;-

**A/N: I know, abrupt ending. I just couldn't think of a better way to end the chapter. Hmmm, I just realized that, aside from a brief cameo at the beginning (in which he was asleep) Dean wasn't in this chapter. I'll try to do more with Dean in the next chapter.**

**Yikes, when did I get so damn sentimental? That bit with Rebecca? Never planned. It just sort of fell into place. What do you think of her in this universe? Much different to her true character?**

**I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, even though there's no real relevance (as yet, it will become relevant… I think) to the actual storyline. Until next time, Cyas.**


	6. Leave Me Here to Bleed

**Forever's Not Enough**

**Partly beta'd by mysterychic. Thanks to you for reading and fixing whatever you found.**

**Disclaimer**: See Prologue. Song is Angels by Within Temptation. If you like the song, but don't see it anywhere in here, lucky you, you've been spared seeing the poor thing turned upside-down by a drunken lunatic.

**Author's Note**: Oh, so now I'm not even listening to the songs to get ideas for chapter titles. A line from Avril Levigne's song "Anything But Ordinary". Dunno what it's relevance to this chapter is, it just seemed to suit it. Anyone who sees relevance is welcome to point it out.

And I've never set foot in a liquor store, nor do I have any experience with alcohol or intoxication. You'll probably get that impression a lot from this chapter.

**Warnings**: Coarse language. Okay, one word. Don't even know why I put it in, it just seemed to fit Dean's mood.

**Review Answers**: I love you all. Please have mercy on me. It's after midnight, and I'm tired, but I couldn't go to sleep until I finished this chapter (trust me, I tried, the ideas began pelting my brain like bullets). So none of the answers will be in depth. Some of them may not even make sense. Hehe, not sure if I even am. But I had to answer you all because you're all so great and I hope you continue to be great to me.

Wolf-Of-Insanity – It is justified, they are very distracting. Yes, he is. I love him, he's my favourite character, and yet in this here my AU, I make him an idiot. Someone want to explain that to me? Lol.

Spuffyshipper – Thanks, here it is. No, sorry, incorrect… interesting idea though… no, bad ideas, no more, can't take anymore. Your idea? In my unprofessional (but apparently sought after) opinion, I think it could work, go for it.

fairyntoad14 – Yeah, that's the sort of vibe I was going for. Thanks, here's the next one.

darkangel36 – It was indeed. I did my best, apparently my is really good. Thanks, will keep up as long as I can.

Deadlove Calling – 'Twas the shapeshifter indeed. He does, he won't, read on, you'll know. Lol, lots of two-word combinations. Basically, yeah, read on, you'll find out.

FastFuriousChick – Normally, I love long reviews. I will continue to, but right now they are terrifying me, lol, so I'll only answer the biggest things. I'm glad you think I did so well with Becky. Well, that would explain the need for new clothes… Hmmm, I just realized Sam isn't at all worried about that stuff in this chapter. I suppose we'll have to chalk it up to him having too much on his mind already. The shapeshifter would be, what? The third catastrophe? Fourth? Something like that.

pandora jazz – Yeah, I'm told that a lot, whether it's about my writing or just the way I talk, nobody believes I'm so young. Oh, it's frowned upon? Lol, I did no know that. But don't worry, I figured it out, read a lot from that author (if my figuring out is correct). Thanks, I did my best with Rebecca, glad you liked her. Good, good, surprises always make me feel good. Especially I'm the one behind them.

wcfan – Thanks. I agree. When he will actually tell her… that remains to be seen. Agreed again, no easy way. I'm guessing. Like everything else, no experience.

Miss Meehan – A+, are you drunk? Okay, had to say that, funny haha from a TV show I used to watch, hehe. Thanks, though. Nice to know you really like my story.  
Rebecca was the one who sent Sam the text or whatever in Skin, the sister of the Sam's friend who was framed. Visions… hehe, not exactly. No real explanation yet, but there will be in later chapters. Oh, I really don't… okay, yes, my ego's taking over and saying I do deserve it, thank you, thank you (exaggerated bow).

jackyll – I think I'm gonna cry. Not because of you, just because I'm so close to the end of the reviews. Yeah, you did miss #4, but that's fine. Yeah, laptops tend to do that (I speak, for once, from personal experience). Yeah, I'll just say thank you and yes to everything you said that deserves that answer, cause I'm afraid things I read are starting to not make sense to me (that's a sign of exhaustion, right?).

inu-kaglover45 – Thanks. Yeah, he is, and more creepiness to follow (shifty eyes). Lol, no, not yet. Oh wait, yes, here it is. Your update, Mistress-Sir (dunno your gender, lol).

Rose of No Man's Land – (Cries comically) Okay, between all the great things that have been said and my total exhaustion, I've finally broken down. But I'll still answer the reviews, because my brain doesn't need _that much_ sleep does it?  
Anyway… Jess, Jess, Jess… what to do with her… don't worry, dirty, twisted imaginations are what got this story started (well, no, a song got this story started, but after wards it was the imaginations that kept it going). Thank you, everyone's loving Rebecca, this is good I think. Yes, first run-in… lol, totally forgotten in this chapter (it's been a long day). Whoops. Always good to hear those two words that are at the very end of your review.

Pampers Baby Dry. – Congratulations. Since you are the last reviewer I'm answering, you win a special visit from either Sam or Dean. No, I'm just kidding. They're all mine. Except they aren't, so they can't. Onto the answer.  
Yes, Sammy's a bad boy. Yes, it was cute. And yes, guilt is so good to inflict, even if it's a bitch (excuse the language) to deal with. Here's the next chapter, enjoy.

**Chapter 5**: And Leave Me Here to Bleed

Dean spent a large portion of the morning in front of his laptop, scanning the Internet articles about the murders that had taken place. As it turned out, not all of them were murders, but the ones that survived were rarely in any condition to talk to the press. Beaten, bruised, bloody, most of them weren't even conscious for days after they were rescued, whether due to the severity of the injuries or because of sedation. It didn't matter; the point was, this thing was vicious, and it liked hurting people.

About eighty-five percent of his time spent in front of the laptop was spent trying to ignore the thoughts that were plaguing his mind. Thoughts of Sam. He couldn't explain it, but waking up with the other man already gone, with no thought of even saying goodbye, made him feel… hurt? Upset? Abandoned? No, not abandoned. He got that enough form his father. Confused? Hell, yeah. He wasn't used to being the one waking up to find his one-time lover gone. He was normally the one who was gone.

Finally, when he realized he was getting nowhere with the shapeshifter, he shut off the laptop, grabbed his jacket, and left the motel room. If one problem was out of his hands, the best thing to do was to deal with another problem. One by the name of Sam…

And that was when he realized he didn't even know the other man's last name. He stopped on the doorstep of the room, wondering where to go from there. He doubted any of the nightclubs would be open this early in the day, and those were the only places he could think of that might have the smallest inkling of where Sam lived. And if he didn't know where Sam lived, he couldn't…

And therein lay his second problem. He didn't know what he'd do if and when he finally tracked Sam down. A part of him wanted to beat the guy to a pulp for leaving him high and dry, but the rational part of him (the smaller part) told him that was both stupid and hypocritical. He was sorely tempted to ignore his rational side, but he resisted the temptation.

Instead, he locked the door behind him, and went straight for his car. Before starting it up, he popped open the glove compartment and shuffled through IDs until he found one he liked. After replacing his old fake ID with his new fake ID, Dean started up the impala and drove out of the motel parking lot.

It was only after he'd rung the buzzer at the police station that he realized what an idiotic plan this was. There were five cops that had gotten a clear view of his face the night before; what was the chance all of them were off-duty today?

Apparently, higher then Dean had thought. Well, not off-duty, just out on different cases right at that moment. Leaving Dean alone with the poor little constable.

"I'm Inspector Stevens," he said, flashing his ID in the constable's direction. "I'm hoping you can help me." The constable looked like he hoped he could as well. In the 'terrified of you' sort of way. "I was passing through town this morning- in fact, I'd have been gone by now- only I almost ran down some idiot on a motorcycle about half an hour ago. I was hoping you'd help me track him down, just so I can make sure he's okay." He hoped that was a believable story.

Then he got the feeling the young constable would have done everything possible to help him whether the story was believable or not. How he ever came to be a cop in the first place was a mystery to Dean, one he never really wanted to solve. Nevertheless, with the description of Sam that Dean gave him, along with the description of the bike, the young constable recognized who he was describing straight away.

"Uh… that'd be Adams… uh… Samuel Adams." He said. "We… uh… we've been having some trouble with him lately. He likes to stretch his boundaries in the worst ways possible."

"Right, yeah, sounds like him." Dean said with a nod. "You got an address?"

"Uh, right away, sir." The constable said, and darted off to get the address. Dean resisted temptation once again, this time the temptation to give the poor constable a ton of paperwork just for the sake of it. Luckily for the constable, Dean was saving his wrath for a single person, and so he left the police station with the address on a slip of paper, the constable more or less intact.

It didn't take him long to get to the house Sam lived at, and he was dumbstruck to say the least.

He had expected Sam to be living in the bad part of town (was there a bad part of St. Louis?), but this was anything but: it was like the neighbourhood of the rich and… richer.

With a sigh, he walked up to the front door and rang the doorbell. A moment later, it opened.

"Can I help you, sir?" a middle-aged man stood in the doorway, eyeing Dean's attire rather distastefully, but still trying to sound polite.

"A butler, of course, he had to have a butler." Dean said, rolling his eyes.

"I prefer the term 'house keeper'." The man said. "I ask again-" And it looked like it killed him to say the words again, "-Can I help you?" politeness was non-existent this time.

"Uh, yeah, I'm looking for Sam." Dean said hopefully. Still eyeing Dean's clothes distastefully, the 'house keeper' seemed to decide he had little choice; Dean guessed Sam's friends came around a lot, and he was just being judged as another one because of his clothes.

"Please wait here," he said as he closed the door behind Dean. It was an order if ever Dean heard one. "I will go find Samuel." With that, he turned on his heel and left Dean alone by the front door. Dean raised his eyebrows at the man's retreating back.

"'Samuel'?" he muttered.

He took in what he could see of the house (which wasn't much). Through one door, he could see what he thought might be the living room. Aside from that, there was the hallway and the front door, and a few closed doors. Nothing much to interest Dean.

"What are you doing here?" He looked up and saw Sam, dressed in a long-sleeved white shirt and dark-grey trousers, an annoyed look on his face. Not the same Sam Dean had slept with the night before. Of course, the night before Dean had had no idea Sam was rich.

"Good morning to you too, Sunshine." He said with an obviously fake smile. "I came by to see…" He glanced at the housekeeper. "Would you mind clearing out. 'Samuel' and I have some things to discuss." Sam turned an irritated glare on the housekeeper, guessing where Dean had found out his full name.

"You, stay here." He ordered. "You," he turned to Dean. "Follow." Without waiting for Dean's reply, he turned and walked down the hall. Dean was surprised for a couple of seconds, but quickly recovered, and sprinted to catch up with Sam (damn those long legs of his).

Sam led Dean into what appeared to be an office of some sort. Dean couldn't imagine Sam sitting in an office, rich kid or not, so he guessed it belong to Sam's father or mother.

Closing the door behind him, Sam turned an irritated look on Dean.

"What do you want?" He demanded.

"Well…" Dean frowned. "I did come to find out where the hell you got to this morning, but…" He finished his sentence by punching Sam square in the jaw. The younger man had a split second to be shocked before he hit the wall, and sank to the floor.

He got slowly to back to his fee, glaring at Dean, his hand on his cheek. "Why is it that every time we meet you either punch me or kiss me?" He asked in a sullen voice. Dean shrugged.

"Dunno, could be you just have that affect on people." He said.

"Do you see random people kissing me out on the streets?"

"Okay, so it's just an affect you have on me."

"What do you want?"

There was a few seconds of silence while Dean pondered the question; in truth, he had no idea what he wanted, or why he'd even come here in the first place.

"What? You were upset I didn't give you a goodbye kiss?" Sam asked. "That I didn't stick around for more?" He shook his head incredulously, and Dean realized suddenly that he wasn't denying anything Sam was saying.

"I'm… I can…" He wasn't really sure what he was saying. Yes, there was something there something that he'd never felt with anyone before in his life. Not even with that girl Cassie a couple of years back. This was something new; something raw and painful and beautiful all at the same time and it left Dean feeling like a fish out of water. "I'm allowed to… to having feelings for someone."

"No." Sam said loudly. "No, you can't. You… you can't." He repeated, an extremely distressed look in his eyes. Dean stared at him, trying to ignore the hurt that was building up at Sam's words.

Sam didn't know if he wanted to yell at Dean or breakdown crying. What right did he have to come into Sam's life out of the blue and mess it all up like this? Sam had had a reasonably good life (okay, it was crappy, but he liked it) going before Dean had showed up, and just like that it had all gone to hell.

Very quickly, Sam felt his distress turn to anger. He wanted to hurt Dean, physically, emotionally, mentally, it didn't matter.

"'I have sex with complete strangers every other night. Rough, hot, meaningless sex.' Those were your exact words," Sam said.

"How did you-"

"Photographic memory, don't change the subject," Sam said. "You can't say something like that and then turn around and tell me that what we did last night actually meant something. Because I've got news for you: it didn't." He saw the fist. He didn't get a chance to react before it connected with his chin and his head snapped back.

Dean took a step back, wincing as he rubbed his knuckles, which didn't seem to agree with his choice of punching Sam a second time.

Sam had staggered back a couple of step, blinking as he lowered his head back down. Dean glared at him, but that was all the emotion he showed. His face had turned into an emotionless mask which, Sam had learned from watching other people do the same, that when someone did something that, it only meant there was a raging river of emotions simmering right below the surface.

"Maybe it didn't mean anything," Dean said, keeping his voice steady. "But you can't stand there and tell me that what we did wasn't real, that it didn't feel right. I wasn't the only one in that bed. You were right there with me, and if you're too blind to see that you enjoyed it as much as I did then…" He swallowed, and Sam suddenly felt his anger waning, guilt beginning to trickle through the cracks. "Then I guess I was just wasting my time."

Without waiting for Sam to say anything else, Dean moved past him, not bothering to be careful as his shoulder knocked Sam's. The younger man flinched, surprised by the touch, and moved out of Dean's way as he left the room.

Dean moved swiftly down the hall, and was out the front door mere seconds after leaving the office. He slammed at shut once he was outside, and stood on the front step for what seemed like forever while he tried to regain his composure.

Finally, he stepped away from the door. One step. Two steps. Three steps and, with a cry of frustration, he lashed out with his foot, finding an odd satisfaction as the toe of his boot connected with a garden gnome and sent it sailing through the air to crash onto the driveway, shattering into a dozen pieces.

He took a few deep breaths, and then hurried to the impala, climbing in and sitting there for a few minutes before starting it up (because he didn't want to be driving it while he felt the desire to cause destruction).

When he was finally sure he was under control again, he pulled out of the driveway, and sped off away from the house as fast as he could legally go.

-;-

Sam stood rooted to the spot for a small eternity as the played those few minutes over and over again in his mind. The look in Dean's eyes, as much as he'd tried to hide it, as he'd been leaving was enough to totally erase all of Sam's anger. And left him with a horrible feeling of guilt. He looked down at the floor, feeling ashamed of how he'd exploded at the other man. Even if Dean had reacted rather poorly after Sam had snuck out of the room that morning, that didn't give Sam the right to take out his confusion and frustration on him.

A frustrated cry suddenly filled his ears as if someone had cried out right beside him. His hands flew up to cover his ears, but it did nothing to stop the deafening cry. Right after the cry ended, the sound of something smashing sounded, just as loud, just as invasive. The only relief was that it last little more then a second, although both sounds seemed to echo on inside his head.

He swallowed, slowly lowering his hands as if expecting the noises to start up again. Encouraged by the silence the followed, Sam straightened up, and turned to the door, opening it to see if Dean was outside. The voice had definitely sounded like Dean's, but Sam couldn't understand how it could possibly have been so loud. Even if he'd been on the other side of the door, he couldn't possibly have been that loud. And what had caused that smashing sound. There didn't appear to be anything broken or missing in the hallway.

"Mr. Grauly." He called. The housekeeper came out of the next room.

"Yes, sir?" He said.

"I'm going out," Sam said, "Tell my father not to wait up for me." He added, like his father would lose a wink of sleep whether Sam was drunk and passed out in an alley or lying in a ditch outside of town with two broken legs.

"Of course, sir." Mr. Grauly said in a monotonous voice. "Am I to assume your guest has already left?"

"Well, unless you're going deaf in your eavesdropping ear, you needn't assume." Sam said, not even turning around as he walked towards the kitchen, the fastest way to the garage from where he already was.

He seemed to be doing this a lot lately: He came home. Something went wrong. He went out again. It was getting a bit tedious. And one of these days he was going to drink himself into a stupor and just not wake up again. One of these days, that possibility might actually bother him. In the mean time, he was going to keep drinking, until he found, or was given, a reason not to.

He was at the door that led into the garage when he changed his mind; he planned to get drunk beyond stupidity, and he didn't want to put his baby at risk. The last time he'd ridden his bike while drunk, his father had almost made _him _pay for the repairs.

So he turned from the garage and went out the front door instead.

Twenty minutes later, he was out the front of a liquor store. That's right; gone were the day when he had to rely on Karl to get him booze from the store. He was an adult now. He could get it on his own.

He stood out the front of the store for another ten minutes trying to build up the courage to go inside. Finally, he managed it, and stepped over the threshold into the liquor store.

"Of all the people I could have fallen for, it had to be you, didn't it?" Sam spun around at Dean's voice, stunned to hear it so soon after his harsh rejection of the older man's feelings. What he saw behind him surprised and confused him to no end:

He saw an empty sidewalk.

Perplexed, Sam turned back into the liquor store and, ignoring the chill starting to assault his spine, began perusing the shelves in search of something that could knock him out if he drank enough. He settled on beer, since it was the only thing he had any real experience with (mildly alcoholic he might be, but he wasn't reckless… most of the time), and bought three cases. He was right at the door when Dean's voice reached his ears again.

"I actually cared for you…" He looked around desperately, trying to pinpoint the location of the voice.

"Please stop." He gasped out, his voice shaking slightly. The words echoed in his ears, and he shook his head. "I'm sorry… please, I'm sorry." He said.

"Hey, you okay?" The clerk asked, seeing him standing at the door. Sam nodded, biting down on his lower lip, his eyes squeezed shut.

"I'll be fine." He said. Opening his eyes, he released an exasperated sigh and moved forward, exiting the store. Dean's voice had died down once again, and all Sam wanted to do was find a nice, private place to settle down and drink himself into oblivion. He was going crazy; that was the only explanation he could come up with. It was the guilt, it was driving him crazy. Alcohol deadened guilt, didn't it?

Past experience told him alcohol could kill anything. Brain cells included. Right now, that was exactly what he needed.

"That really hurt my feelings, you know."

"I know" Sam all but shouted. A couple of people moved to give him a wide berth as he moved down the sidewalk, heading the direction of a nearby park. "I… I know… I'm sorry. Please… please, just stop." He tripped and fell face first onto the grass, the cases of beer hitting the ground. "Plea… please stop."

Ignoring the worried glances he was getting from people, he grabbed his cases of beer and pulled himself half to his feet, staggering onward, to a more secluded part of the park. There, he threw down the cases, pulled out one bottle, and undid the cap. And then he drank. He poured the liquid down his throat as fast and as hard as he could, ignoring the sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach as he drank, ignoring the burning of his throat as the raw liquid forced its way down like a solid object.

He knew in the back of his mind that this was a sure-fire way to make himself sick. But the back of his mind, where he'd pushed everything that had happened over the last few days, was exactly the part of him he hoped the alcohol would suppress. Between the guilt he felt about cheating on Jess and the guilt still building up for what he'd done to Dean, and all those horribly mixed feelings he was having for Dean himself, Sam didn't much care if he made himself sick, so long as he killed off a few choice brain cells in the process.

-;-

He didn't know how long he'd been driving. He did know that the fuel tank had been close to empty for some time now, and he should probably stop to refill it. Or better yet, stop driving altogether for a while, try and settle down. Or pick on a few more garden gnomes, whichever worked.

Actually, what Dean really wanted to do was find a nice girl to try and take his mind off Sam. A blonde. A short blonde, one that _didn't _make _him _feel like a midget.

But wouldn't you know it, the car just happened to run out of fuel, right then and there. He had just enough warning to pull off the road, and then the impala stopped moving altogether.

"Damnit!" He shouted, hitting the steering wheel. That's right; taking his frustrations out on his only real friend. He climbed out of the car, gave the front tyre a good kick, and then stalked off the sidewalk and onto the grass of the park, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, a hard, focused look on his face. He was sure he was getting a few looks of concern- he wasn't exactly in a perfect state right now- but he didn't really care. He was hurt, he was angry, and most of all he was confused, because he didn't know _why _he was so damn hurt and angry.

He stood atop a small rise in the park, looking down over everything else, taking deep, not-quite-calming breaths as he tried to figure out what to do. That very poor singing in his ear didn't help his mood. Wait. Singing?

He cast a wary glance across the park, and who should he see sitting against a rock some dozen or so meters away, a bottle of beer in his hand? Sam fucking Adams of course, drunk enough to be able to sing (poorly) in public and not seem to care.

"_No re-remorse… 'cause… I still… remember… the smile… when you… tore me apart._" Sam was singing, his words slurred and ruining what Dean knew to be a pretty decent song when sung correctly. Cringing, Dean couldn't help but step down off the rise, taking a cautious towards Sam (what can I say? He's a sucker for punishment).

"_Sparkling angel… couldn't… see,_" Sam continued. "_Your dark… intentions… your feelings for… me…_" He didn't seem to notice the fact that the only person within a couple of dozen meters of him was Dean. He did, however, notice Dean. "Looky, looky, my…" He burped. "Fallen angel." He said with a stupid grin on his face. He dropped the empty bottle, and Dean saw now that there were several others around his feet; he'd clearly been drinking a lot in the hour or so since Dean had left him at his house (had it really been that long?), and despite what he'd said to him, Dean couldn't help but be concerned.

"Hey, uh, Sammy. 'You feeling okay?" He asked.

"Never better…" Sam muttered. "I ruined things with Jess… I ruined things with you… what else can I ruin, do ya think?" He looked up at dean, as if only just realizing he was there. "Dean… I'm sorry…" He whispered. "It's all in here somewhere… I buried it so… so that I wouldn't have to face you… but now you're… here, and I don't really…" He stopped, looking up at Dean. Slowly, Dean sighed and lowered himself so that his eyes were level with Sam's.

"You're not okay, are you?" He asked. Sam smiled, as if Dean had told a joke.

"That's one way of putting it." He said. Then he frowned, and Dean could see now that he was crying. "'Sorry. I… I didn't mean to hurt your… feelings Dean. I… I wanted to make it better. But maybe for me and not for you. But it all just got worse, and I… I wanted to stop feeling…" He made it sound like there should've been more to that sentence, but he didn't continue.

"Sammy-" Dean began.

"Oh, god, Dean, it's so loud." He put his hands over his ear, rocking back and forth. "Please stop… please don't yell anymore. It wasn't my fault. I'm sorry, please don't-"

"Sam." Dean grabbed Sam's wrists and the younger man stopped rocking, raising his head to look at Dean. "Sam, I'm not yelling. No one's yelling, it's quiet." Sam shook his head vigorously.

"No… no, it's not. They're yelling and it's my fault." Sam said, his eyes squeezed shut. He leaned his head against Dean's shoulder. "They're angry at me for what I did. He's angry at me, I didn't become what he wanted and now he hates me, Dean," he was practically yelling it now. "Dean, he hates me. I'm a screw up and a disappointment and he hates me, Dean, why does he hate me?" He cried softly into Dean's jacket. "Why won't he love me?"

"Shh, shh, Sammy," Dean whispered soothingly, wrapping his arms instinctively around Sam. He couldn't explain it, but somehow, he knew exactly what Sam needed. With his arms wrapped reassuringly around Sam as he shivered and rocked against Dean's body, his hands came up and covered Sam's, extra protection against whatever voices were tormenting him. "I'm here for you, Sammy. I've got you."

"You do… you really do… I didn't see it before." It was amazing Sam could still hear him between the voices he claimed to be hear and two hands covering both his ears. "Dean… will you take care of me?" He asked, his voice like a scared child's. Whatever was happening to him, Dean had a feeling it went way beyond his being drunk now.

He nodded slowly, pulling Sam closer. "Yeah, Sam. Yeah, I'll take care of you." He said softly.

-;-

**A/N: (Is now crying uncontrollably in the not-really sort of way) Can you believe that that ending kept me up till quarter-to-one in the morning? I hope you all enjoyed it, I'm not mentioning anything here because my brain feels like my skull is trying to squeeze the life out of it. I bid you all farewell until next time. Cyas.**


	7. When Push Comes, Push Back Harder

**Forever's Not Enough**

**Disclaimer**: See Prologue.

**Author's Note**: Alright, I admit, I have this tendency to make days appear to be made up of much less then twenty-four hours. I don't actually cut hours off a day, but it sometimes looks like that because they go through them so fast. You may see what I mean in this chapter.

And another chapter title that appears to have no relevence to the chapter at all. Unless I'm just not looking hard enough. Can anyone else see it? The relevence I mean.

**Review Answers**:

Katrin Van Helsing – Here's what happens next, lol. Yes, indeed, it will come back into it… in this chapter (sort of).

fairyntoad14 – Yay, one of the words I was hoping for. I was worried, I'll admit, but so far all my worries and concerns about this story have proved unfounded (is that the correct term?), so I guess I'm not surprised it was the same. Yes, he has Dean… _for _now. Wickedness abounds. Yeah, I don't know why I wrote that either.

Annibal – Thanks. Yeah, I did my best, people seem to like them. Here's what happens next.

inu-kaglover45 – Oh, good (says that and pretends to understands). Here's next chapter. No, not end.

empath89 – Yay, good is good, lol. Yeah, I wanted to show a somewhat different side of Sam. Demon, hehe… yes, Dean's mother (Mary, his father's John, as you probably know) was killed when he was six months old. Thus, Dean is the 'chosen one', or whatever they are, for the Winchester family.

FastFuriousChick – Yes, I do, I really do (hehe). You're right, not really. If I did these last three chapters wouldn't be up yet. Moi? Cruel ways? I don't know what you're talking about (walks away pretending to be innocent).

pandora jazz – Thanks. Good, good to know. You'll find out later what Sam was hearing. Suffice it to say, it was definitely Dean, just a different side of Dean. Yes, I had that little piece planned out from the beginning (or as long as I knew Sam would hear voices). Yes, I was very tired, thank you for appreciating that.

jackyll – (Scoffs) End? You must be joking, lol. Is it ever that simple when it comes to Sam and Dean? No, there is definitely more to come. Yes, Sam is where he belongs… for now. Again, I say: Is it ever that simple:P

Wolf-of-Insanity - No, no shapeshifter in that chapter. Yay, cute is good... I think, is cute good? Here's what happens next. Yes, keep writing, less thinking, good plan. I like that plan. Thinking hurts bad, lol. Thanks, this soon enough?

Spuffyshipper - Thanks, soon enough? I so know that feeling. Half the ideas I have never even make it to the page (evidence of that are the ever vanishing ideas on my profile).

**Chapter 6**: When Push Comes, Push Back Harder

Dean helped Sam to his feet, and the younger man swayed a little unsteadily, before leaning heavily against Dean, who had no problem supporting him. The feel of Sam's body against his, even if it _was _just for support, made Dean happier then he ever thought he could be. Not ecstatic, dance for joy happy, just happy. Content. Relaxed.

"It wasn't my fault." Sam muttered. His hands were still covering his ears, but the voices, or whatever the young man was hearing, seemed to have died down, because Sam wasn't shouting hysterically anymore. "I didn't do it. I was here, Mr. Grauly can tell you that." Dean looked over at Sam as they reached the impala. "I was arguing with… someone… but you're not listening to me. Why aren't you listening to me? I'm standing right…" He trailed off, suddenly aware once more of where he was, "… in the park?" he shook his head. "Dean…"

"Here, Sammy, I'm right here." Dean said, tightening his hold on Sam to reassure him of his presence. "And I'm not going anywhere." He looked at the impala, and remembered suddenly that it had no fuel. With a sigh, he walked Sam to the one of the back doors, and opened it. "Okay, I'm not going anywhere, right after I get some fuel for the car." He helped Sam get into the car, and the younger man sat down on the back seat, his hands _still_ covering his ears. "Are you going to be alright?" He asked.

Sam nodded slowly. Dean nodded, and was just about to close the door when Sam spoke up, "Dean, I'm cold." Dean stopped, and looked at Sam. No wonder; it wasn't exactly the warmest time of the year, and Sam was wearing the same (thin) long-sleeved white shirt and dark grey trousers he had been wearing earlier that day; he mustn't have been really thinking ahead when he left the house.

With a sigh, Dean stripped off his warm black jacket and draped it over Sam's shoulders (because we all know it wouldn't really fit Sam), leaving Dean wearing only a dark-red shirt and his jeans. He suppressed a shiver as the chill immediately seeped into his bones, but ignored the cold and grinned at Sam.

"Okay, I'll be back soon. Be good, and don't steal the car this time." He said. Sam gave him a small grin. It was forced, but it was there. Smiling back, Dean slowly backed away from the car, turning around only when Sam's attention left him.

-;-

"Jeez, Sam, what do you eat?" Dean asked as he lifted Sam out of the car. Despite being younger, Sam was a great deal larger then Dean, and Dean could only just lift him (he'd was being unreasonable and wouldn't leave the car on his own).

"What I'm fed." Sam said, wrapping his arms around Dean's neck. The voices seemed to have faded a lot, but they'd left Sam shaken, and he was still too drunk to be left on his on. As if to confirm this, he suddenly giggled. "Are you going to feed me?" he asked in a child-like voice.

"No." Dean said simply, coming to his door. "Now, I'm going to put you down so I can open the door, and you can either stand up on your own or I can leave you lying here on the doorstep." Sam pouted, but nonetheless stood on his own two feet as Dean put him down (in other words, dropped him). Although, 'stood' might have been the wrong word for it. Leaned heavily on Dean was a better way of describing it.

"You know… I never meant what I said…" He said, his words slurring slightly as Dean guided him into the room. "I… I said them but… I didn't mean them… because… you're…" He smiled goofily. "You." He finished simply. Then he leaned down and kissed Dean right on the lips. In plain sight. With the door wide open. For all the world to see. He kissed Dean like a child would. A child who wanted Dean. Impossible, but that was how it seemed. Dean fumbled with the door, not wanting his lips to part with Sam's, loving the feel of being _kissed_ by him rather then being the kisser.

Finally, the door closed, and Dean wrapped his arms around the drunken young man, and hoped like hell that this wasn't Sam he was kissing and not the alcohol. It wouldn't be the first time someone had loved him during their drunken one-night stand and hated him the next morning.

Then suddenly Sam pulled back, and Dean thought he'd done something wrong. But Sam was still smiling. "I kissed you." He said. "You kiss nice." He bit his lip, as if trying to make a decision. Then he backed up and sat down on the bed. "Should I undress?" He asked. Dean blinked, taken aback by the question. Most people didn't ask that. Then again, most people didn't have voices only they could hear messing with their head while they were drunk. How much was still drunkenness and how much was something else entirely, Dean didn't know. He only hoped it wore off like being drunk wore off.

He walked over and sat beside Sam. He was going to do something he'd never done before: give his lover a choice. "Do you want to?" He asked. Sam shrugged, apparently wanting to be told whether or not he should. Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You're not going to make this easy for me, are you?" He asked. Sam grinned.

"Why would I make it easy for you?" He asked. Dean gave him a half smile.

"That's a good question." He said seriously. "Hey, Sam… I, uh, I'm sorry if I forced you into this. I know that you're dating that girl, I just…" He trailed off, shaking his head. He didn't know what he was thinking or feeling right now, only that Sam seemed to be filling both his thoughts and his feelings.

"'Can't force me if it's my choice." Sam said matter-of-factly, putting an arm around Dean's shoulders. He looked over, a small smile playing on his lips. "It is…" He faltered for a second, like he was trying to remember the words, "… my choice." He finished. Then he reached over with his free hand and turned Dean's head around to face him, pressing his lips to Deans in a much-less-clumsy kiss then the previous one. "Hold me, Dean?" He whispered into Dean's lips. Dean smiled, turning his upper body around to face Sam as well, wrapping his arms around him. Sam leaned against him, head resting on his shoulder.

"Shirt." Dean said after a minute, letting go of Sam. Sam looked disappointed, but smiled when he realized what Dean had said.

"I will if you will." He said. Dean grinned, and undid the first couple of buttons of his shirt, removing it and tossing it to the floor. Sam did the same, and then Dean pulled him close again, doing nothing but enjoying the feel of Sam's semi-naked body against his.

"Let me feel you, Sam." He said. He wasn't sure what he meant by that, but the words seemed to just fall from his lips. "All of you." Sam nodded against him, already sliding his trousers down his legs. Dean had only a little more trouble, wearing jeans and a belt.

He pulled the blanket out from under Sam and himself and gently pushed the younger man down into a laying position, his hand on Sam's chest. Sam did as he was guided, sliding his legs around so he was lying flat on the bed. Dean then laid down on top of him and pulled the blanket over the top of them.

Dean spent what seemed like the next few hours just feeling Sam, whatever that meant. Everywhere the younger man's body touched his (and that was just about everywhere), his skin seemed to tingle with excitement. There legs were entangled, and Dean's hands were beneath Sam's back, locking Sam in his embrace as well as limiting his own movement.

He seemed determined to mentally map out every inch of Sam's body, touching, feeling, every part he could with any part of himself that was close enough. And Sam didn't give any sign of objection. If anything, he seemed to be enjoying Dean's body against his as much as Dean did vice-versa.

His hand closed on the back of Dean's neck and he pushed his head down to his neck. Dean obliged, kissing Sam's neck tenderly as Sam arched his back to give Dean full use of his hands again. Dean wrapped one arm all the way around Sam's torso, and cradled Sam's head with the other.

"Dean…"

"Yeah?" Dean voice was muffled against Sam's neck.

"I'm really tired."

Dean glanced over at the clock (with some difficulty; he wondered if Sam had forgotten he was holding Dean's head there), and chuckled.

"It's four thirty." He said. "PM."

"I'm still really tired." Sam said, no anger, just… he sounded really tired as well. And he still sounded a tad drunk. Dean smiled, his hand leaving Sam's head and reaching up to remove his hand from Dean's head. He rolled over onto the bed, sliding his arm under Sam's head. Sam smiled, snuggling up to him.

"Sleep, Sammy." Dean said. "I'll be here." Sam made an incoherent noise of agreement, his eyes already closed and his breathing relaxing. Wow, he really was tired. Dean shimmied further down under the blankets, resting his head against the pillows. It was amazing how having your head bitten off by your enraged lover, running out of fuel, helping said lover through a mental breakdown, and then making with the touchy-feely could drain a guy.

-;-

Dean woke up and for the briefest of moments expected Sam to be gone again. He smiled when he saw the younger man, sleeping peacefully beside him. He stroked Sam's thick brown locks gently, and the younger man's eyes slowly opened.

"You're still here." Dean said, still smiling.

"Apparently so." Sam whispered, he groaned, putting a hand to his head. "What time is it?" He asked. Dean looked over at the clock.

"A little after five a.m." He said. "We slept for over twelve hours."

"I wish it had been twenty." Sam whispered. He opened his eyes a crack, looking up at Dean. "There wouldn't be a knife sticking out of my head, would there?"

"No, no knife." Dean said. Sam nodded.

"Hangover then."

"Yeah, that'd be my guess." Dean agreed. "You want me to run you home?"

"No, no running." Sam said, holding his hands in his head. Dean chuckled, and Sam shook his head. "You meant the car, didn't you?" Sam asked.

"Yeah."

"Okay, I feel stupid."

Dean chuckled at that.

"You're not stupid." He said. Sam smiled.

"No… I'm not." He said. He raised his head, eyes still mostly closed. Dean leaned down, his lips touching Sam's, turning up into a smile as they shared a kiss. Then his smile turned into a mischievous grin and pulled back suddenly, eliciting a displeased noise from Sam. "That's not very nice." He whined.

"Say it." Dean whispered.

"Say what?" Sam asked innocently, leaning up to try and recapture Dean's lips. Dean put two fingers on Sam's chin and pushed him back down.

"You know what." He said. Sam pouted, looking up at Dean, who was still grinning mischievously. "Come on, you know you want to." Sam shook his head, but it was obvious he was trying very hard not to smile. "How about a down payment?"

Sam raised an eyebrow. "We can discuss." He said. Dean brushed his lips teasingly against Sam's. The younger man strained to turn it into a proper kiss, but Dean held him down. "You're being cruel on purpose." Sam accused, still straining against Dean's hold.

"I am, I really am." Dean said with a chuckle, enjoying the tormented look on Sam's face, and the occasional whine of desperation that escaped the younger man. "Come on. You can do this, Sammy, I know you can."

"You're talking to me like I'm a drug addict," Sam said, sagging finally beneath Dean's arm. "Talking to me like I'm a drug addict won't make me talk." Dean chuckled again.

"Maybe not, but I'm not the one who'll lose kissing privileges."

"Privileges?" Sam scoffed, and then groaned, wishing he hadn't spoken so loudly. Keeping his voice down, he continued, "What am I, five?" Dean didn't say anything, just watched him. With a long, dramatic sigh, Sam finally gave in. "Alright, I surrender," he said. Then he grinned. "Thank you… for being there for me last night." He said. "I'm glad I was here, with you. There's no place I would have preferred to be."

"There, was that so hard?" Dean asked. Without waiting for an answer, he gave Sam his reward. A long, warm, comforting kiss that eased the throbbing of Sam's skull somewhat, and reminded him why he hadn't been in any hurry to leave this time. Also, the hangover would have made escape a pretty pointless move, as he'd no doubt be back inside before long.

"Yes, it tore me apart to say it." Sam said sarcastically. Dean frowned, and Sam suddenly regretted the words, seeing Dean's poor attempt at hiding how the comment had hurt him. "I'm sorry, that was a stupid thing to say." He said quickly. He suddenly felt unsure what to do, and an awkward silence fell between the two of them.

"_I'm _sorry." Dean said suddenly, surprising Sam. He stared at Dean, trying to get an idea of what was going through the older man's head.

"For what?" He asked.

"For coming into your life, out of the blue." Dean said. "For messing it up." Sam frowned, wondering about the freaky coincidence that he'd thought almost those exact words for a few minutes. Then he smiled softly, put a hand behind Dean's head, and kissed him gently on the lips.

"I forgive you." He said. "And thank you." He added. Dean couldn't help but smile at that.

-;-

Several hours later, Sam stood out the front of the Moore home, a rather secluded house on the outskirts of St. Louis, leaning against the seat of his bike as he tried to work up the courage to go up and ring the doorbell. He knew Jess's parents were rarely home during the day, so he would be able to talk to Jess alone. It was actually Dean who convinced him to tell Jess. While he may enjoy leading women on himself (he had mastered it), he'd told Sam that it wasn't something that ever ended well and that if he wanted any chance of salvaging some sort of friendship with Jess, he had to tell her soon.

Sam, if he was honest with himself, wasn't sure he wanted to be 'just friends' with Jess. He stilled loved and cared about her. He just happened to… feel more strongly about Dean. And he wasn't sure if he _could_ be anything less then Jess's boyfriend, even though it was impossible for him to be with them both.

"Okay, Sam, you can do this…" He whispered encouragingly to himself. He shifted on his bike seat. "You can do this. Just… just walk up to the door and… do it." He stood up, and started walking forwards. He'd gone maybe four or five steps before he came to an abrupt halt, spinning around. "I can't do this." He stopped halfway back to the bike when he turned back to the house. "Alright, if they weren't convinced you were crazy when you started talking to yourself, they certainly are now." He muttered.

Staring up at the house, knowing that if he didn't do this now he might never, Sam took a deep breath, and then walked somewhat awkwardly up to the door. If Dean hadn't convinced him to tell Jess, he would've much preferred to stay in the motel room and spend the rest of the day working through what remained of his hangover. Dean, however, had shoved a water bottle in his hand and all-but kicked him out the door.

And speaking of doors, the front one of Jess's home was now right in front of him, taunting him mercilessly. Hesitantly, he reached up and pressed the doorbell, practically sagging with relief when it rang loud and clear.

After about twenty seconds, Sam rang it again, a little more urgently (could a doorbell sound more urgent the second time) this time. When he'd rung it a third time and still no answer came, Sam began to get worried.

"Come on, Jess… I don't know if I can do this a second time." He said. He decided to knock; that might get more attention. "Come on, Jess, please say you're just-" The swung slowly open as Sam began knocking. "-ignoring… me." He finished. Gently, he pushed the door all the way open, worried now for a different reason. Swallowing, he stepped into the house. "Jess!" He called. He was beginning to feel a little panicked. "Jess, are you here?!" His pace quickened as he began glancing into room as he passed them, looking for Jess. He was getting an increasingly bad feeling.

Coming to Jess's bedroom, he found it locked from the inside. "Jess?" He called. A mere second's hesitation as the possibility that he was blowing things completely out of proportion crossed his mind, and then he kicked the door dead-centre, knocking it off its hinges.

The sight that met him made him unsure if he wanted to cry, vomit or just pass out. Jess was tied to a chair, unconscious, blood everywhere, bruised, beaten. Sam could do nothing but stand there and stare at the horror before him for almost a minute. Then common sense broke through horrified shock, and he was suddenly torn between untying her and calling an ambulance; he decided on the ambulance. She was unconscious, and there would be plenty of time to free her while the ambulance was on its way over.

Feeling as though the air he was breathing was caught somewhere between his mouth and his lungs, Sam backed out of the room, sickened and horrified by what he saw but unable to take his eyes of Jess until he'd backed himself into the hallway wall outside. Then he turned and moved down the hall towards the living room where the phone was, his pace quickening as he realized the possibility that Jess could be dying for all her knew.

He dialled in the emergency number and waited for the operator to answer.

"Yeah, I need an ambulance," he said when he was answered, what seemed like a small eternity later. He quickly gave the operator the address. "Please… hurry." He gasped out. He then hit the 'End Call' button and left the living room, phone still in his hand.

He returned to Jess, hands shaking as he began trying to free her from the bonds holding her to the chair. He wasn't sure whether to cry out with relief or just plain cry when he heard her groan as she regained semi-consciousness.

"Shh, shh, Jess, I'm here, it's going to be okay now." He said, hoping he sounded reassuring.

"No…" Jess gasped out, a small sob coming from her. "No more… please… no more."

"Jess, Jess, it's me." Sam said. She stared at him through narrowed her eyes and blood. "It's me, you're safe now." He said. Her eyes closed and her head sagged. Sam stared at her, ropes momentarily forgotten. His breathing quickened, his whole body shook to the point he felt sure he was going to literally fall apart, and all he really wanted to do was curl up in a corner and cry. Add that to the dull throbbing in his head that he'd been trying to ignore for most of the day, and Sam had every right to do what he then did.

He turned, fell to his hands and knees, crawled half a dozen feet and then emptied the contents of his stomach out onto the carpeted floor. Tears came to his eyes, and he let them, and then he vomited again. He kept on vomiting until there was nothing left to vomit. And then he remained where he was for another few minutes while his whole body heaved again and again, trying to bring up anything he had left.

He heard the front door opening. He knew he should be back by her side trying to free her, but he couldn't. Couldn't move, couldn't look. He just… couldn't.

Footsteps entered the room, most going to Jess, but Sam heard someone come his way, felt a hand on his shoulder.

"You okay?" asked a woman's voice. "Son, you okay?" his father never called him son, but a complete stranger did? What did that say? Why was he even thinking about this kind of thing when his girlfriend (ex?) sat tied to a chair soaked in her own blood. And why couldn't he feel anything aside from the throbbing his head?

"I'm…" His voice cracked. "Not." He finished. "I should've… I should've been trying to help her. But the… the blood… and the… the blood… there was so much blood and… she was hurting and…" His whole body shook, and he felt the woman kneel down beside him.

"It's okay. You did the right thing, you called us." She said, her voice as reassuring as her hand on his shoulder. Sam just nodded numbly. He did the right thing? He did the right thing. No he didn't. He'd done the wrong thing. Twice. Except it didn't seem wrong.

"Dean…" He muttered.

"What's that?"

"I… I need to call someone." He said.

-;-

**A/N: And there you have it folks. It's finally happened. Does everyone know what's finally happened? If you don't, perhaps you need to re-watch the episode 'Skin'. Hope this chapter wasn't tedious or drawn-out or not-believable or any of those bad things I'm always so concerned about. And if it was, let me know, and I'll see what I can do about preventing it in the future. Until next chapter, Cyas.**


	8. Reality is So Unreal

**Forever's Not Enough**

**Disclaimer**: See Prologue.

**Author's Note**: This title… I don't even know where it came from! For that matter, I just realized I don't know where the story title came from.

**Review Answers**: Did I mention how grateful I am to you all? Just thought I'd let you know in case you've all forgotten.

fairyntoad14 – Correct answer. Here's your prize. No, there. No, dammit, I've lost it again. Sorry, not prize. To make up for that, here's the newest chapter. Yes, Dean's the only chance Sam has of staying out of jail (fiendish grin). Guess he's doomed, hehe.

Winchesters-Shadow – Yes, they are. Thanks. And yes, the shapeshifter did come back; he's actually got a rather large part in the story, but I won't give anything away.

pandora jazz – Yay, good, this is good news I think. Yeah, I figured, I might give Dean a bit of an honest side, or maybe he just doesn't want Sam to be ruined like he thinks he is. Yes, it wanted to be Sam. I was considering just having Sam's clothes stolen like it normally does, but I got worried that would lead to a sub-plot of Sam thinking Dean had done it (because that was back before he admitted he liked Dean), and it all just got too complicated, so I settled for it coming to 'borrow' some of his clothes.

jackyll – No, it's not. Yay for the cheering. Yaha, there's actually more to what Dean said then meets the eye, but that will be explained later on. Yes, lots of trouble for Sammy. Hehe, it's so much fun.

empath89 – Yes, the drama's a put those boys through. The drama's they go through on a daily basis. It just makes up who they are. Poor boys. Oh, don't worry. _This_ won't ruin things for them.  
Thanks for mentioning that, I appreciate it. But I read the rules/guidelines as thoroughly as I could and couldn't find any actual mention of reviews. If you've seen it and I haven't, I'd appreciate it if you could show me, but until then I'll keep answering on the chapters (it's not like I'm using an entire chapter for an author's note after all). Another downside would be that I wouldn't be able to answer my anonymous reviewers. Thanks anyway though, as I said, I appreciate it.

Spuffyshipper – Thanks, hope this is soon enough. No, no breaking up necessary. Poor Sammy indeed.

FastFuriousChick – I do know it. Which is why it no longer bothers me, hehe. Great, good to know, and yes, I was unsure at first whether I should do it, but then I took a leaf out Dean's book and just said 'Screw it' and thus, Jess became the shapeshifter's next victim.  
Yes, that was a great line, wasn't it? Hehe, glad you liked it.

inu-kaglover45 – No apologies needed, the review itself is enough. Just the fact that you've reviewed before is enough. But I'm glad you took the time to review again. Here's the next chapter.

darkangel36 – Yes, much sleep for me. Just not in the same night. Yes, Sam's really hurting. Some explanations to what's driving him crazy will hopefully be in the next chapter (but no promises). Sweet is good.

NaturallySupernatural – Thanks. Here's more, I've kept on (and _will _keep on for years to come… just not on this story because it can't last forever).

Wolf-of-Insanity – Yes, Sammy's always fun when he's drunk, though for some reason the hangovers never seem to last long when I'm writing them… Hmmm… Yes, lots of trouble, plans for the truth coming out, poor Jess and Sam and Dean. Here's the next update, I hope I wasn't too long.

**Chapter 7**: Reality is So Unreal

Sam sat in the waiting room of the hospital, his head in his hands. He'd come there in the ambulance, and then they'd told him to wait while the doctors took care of Jess. That had been only fifteen minutes ago, and Sam already felt like he was falling apart. Various scenarios of 'could have's' and 'what if's' flashing through his mind.

"Sam?" he looked up as Dean walked into the waiting room. Without even thinking, Sam practically leapt from the chair and threw himself into Dean's arms. Dean held him as he rested his head on his shoulder, crying softly into his jacket.

"She was there… she was there, in that room, and some… someone did… all that stuff… to her… she was hurt so much and I… I just froze up and…" He trailed off, just breathing in Dean's presence, taking comfort in it.

Dean, who was not used to such public displays of emotion, nonetheless immediately fell into the role of comforting friend or whatever it was he was doing for Sam. Like everything else to do with Sam, it seemed to come naturally as soon as they were together, in each other's arms.

"She would've died, Dean." Sam whispered. "She would've died because I was too much a coward to face her." Dean suddenly pulled back, gripping Sam's arms almost painfully as he stared at him.

"No." He said simply. "No, you are not going to torture yourself like that, you hear me? It doesn't matter what could've happened. What matters is this: You _were _there. You _did_ save her." He stared Sam directly in the eyes, daring him to disagree. "You understand?" he asked. Sam nodded stiffly, and Dean gave a nod of his own, before pulling Sam back into a comforting embrace, which Sam sank into thankfully.

"I called you." Sam breathed. "I needed help… and you were the one I called." He seemed surprised. "Does this mean…? Are we…? Am I…?"

"Making no sense whatsoever? Absolutely." Dean said. Sam chuckled.

"Mr. Adams?" they pulled apart and Sam looked over, seeing a man in his mid-to-late forties. Slowly, Sam nodded. "I'm Inspector Thomas. I'm afraid you're going to have to answer some questions." Sam blinked.

"What?" Dean demanded. "He didn't do anything, he was…" He glanced at Sam. "He didn't do anything."

"And I'm sure that's true," Thomas said. "The questions are more to eliminate him as a suspect then anything else."

After a few seconds of hesitation, Sam agreed to answer some questions. He went and sat down with the inspector, leaving Dean on his own for the moment. "Okay, Sam, let's start with where you were last night, between nine p.m. and two-thirty a.m." Thomas said.

"He had her that long?" Sam asked before he could stop himself.

"We don't know the exact amount of time, and won't until she's recovered enough to answer questions herself," Thomas responded. "Until then: Where were you last night between nine p.m. and two-thirty a.m.?"

Sam shifted uncomfortably; he was a little unsure of how much he should say. He glanced over at Dean, who shrugged, not the least bit helpful. Turning back to the inspector, he bit his lip, thinking hard. Then he sighed. "I was with Dean." He said. Thomas looked over at the young man leaning nonchalantly against the wall, glancing around the room like he was expecting something to leap out of the walls and begin attacking people at random. He turned back to Sam.

"And what were you doing with… Dean?" he asked, and Sam could see that he'd already decided what they'd been doing.

"We were…" Sam couldn't believe what he was about to say. "He was teaching me how to dance." He said. First thing that came to mind; he wasn't used to lying to the cops, as they rarely caught him. He could see that the inspector didn't believe him, so he pressed on. "I can't dance, and Jess… well, we're doing something this weekend… and I… I wanted to do something special…" He made himself look as embarrassed as possible, and shy as well. "Do you want details on what I was planning on doing with her?" he asked. The inspector was eyeing him closely, searching for hints of a lie. Luckily, Sam was a reasonably good actor.

"No, that won't be necessary." Thomas said. "Would you care to explain the… embrace?"

"He's a friend of the family." Sam said. "I feel like I've known him forever; he's like my brother." He narrowed his eyes at the inspector. "What, you think I'd go out and _pay_ someone to teach me to dance?" Sam's motto; when in doubt, fall back into spoiled-rich-kid persona.

"Apparently not." Thomas said, and Sam wasn't sure if he meant he didn't think that or Sam wouldn't do that. Either way, he continued. "Okay, what is your relationship with Miss Moore?" he asked. Sam hoped he didn't visibly cringe; he had hoped to avoid this sort of question, since he himself wasn't exactly sure right at this moment. He settled for the dishonest truth he had gone with so far.

"She's my girlfriend. What, the romantic weekend plan didn't give it away?" he asked in a voice part-way between mocking and bored. "Anything else?"

Inspector Thomas shook his head. "No, I think I've got all I needed for now." He got to his feet. "But I'd watch my step if I were you. I have little tolerance for… people like you." And with that said he walked away.

There were dozens of ways Sam was sure he could interpret the inspector's departing words. He decided that the inspector had little tolerance for guys who cheated on their girlfriends with other guys. If Sam hadn't been a suspect before, his ridiculous attempt at an alibi definitely made him one now.

Dean sat down beside him a few seconds later, a can of soda in each hand. He handed one over to Sam and kept the other for himself. "So, what did you tell him?" he asked.

"That you were a friend of the family who was teaching me to dance for the romantic weekend I had planned for Jess." Sam said.

"And are you paying me well?" Dean asked, taking a sip from his can.

"No, I'm not paying you at all."

"In that case, I quit."

"You do realize I made that up, don't you?"

"I know that." Dean said. He flashed a grin at Sam. "But still, if I'm teaching you to dance…"

"Just drop it." Sam said, a little more snappish then he had intended. Dean frowned, leaning back in his chair. Sam looked over and gave him an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, I just… I can't believe someone could do something like that, I mean…" He sighed, leaning back against the chair. "I shouldn't be dumping all my problems on you." He said after a minute.

"Hey," Dean said, and Sam looked over at him. "Why else would I have come?" he asked. Sam couldn't help but smile, and Dean took his hand, giving it a squeeze. "I'm here for you, Sammy."

"Sam." Sam corrected.

"Sammy." Dean persisted. Sam grinned, turning away from Dean to try and hide it. Dean shifted uncomfortably for a minute; what was it about this kid that made him feel like an awkward teenager?

Hesitantly, he reached over and put a hand on Sam's shoulder. A second later, one of Sam's overly-large hands covered his own. Strangely, the feel of Sam's hand on his relieved him of some of the awkwardness. He squeezed Sam's shoulder reassuringly, and felt some of the tension beneath his hand ease up a little. "You know, Sam, if you want to get out of here, I mean… you looked pretty freaked out when I first got here. I'm sure Jess would understand if you needed some air." Sam looked at Dean, and then looked in the direction Jess had been taken on a stretcher. For a long minute, he seemed hesitant. Then a small, sad smile crept onto his lips.

"How is it you always seem to know exactly what I need?" he asked, turning back to Dean. Dean flashed him a cocky grin, some of the old Dean flaring up, the one who had almost broken Sam's jaw kissing him on their first meeting.

"I know everything, kiddo, it's a fact of life." He said. Sam rolled his eyes.

"Okay, never call me that again." He said.

"Well, then, I guess I'll stick with Sammy." Dean said with a chuckle. "Seriously, though," the look in his eyes was definitely serious enough. "You look like hell, Sammy. I really think you need to take a break."

Sam stared at him for a long minute, and then he leaned back against the back of the chair, giving Dean was small smile. "Okay, on two conditions." He said.

"I'm listening."

"One: No alcohol. I don't want another experience like yesterday for a couple of days at least." Dean nodded in agreement. "Two: Somewhere where…" He bit his lip, looking around suddenly. Then he grinned, thinking of a better choice of words. "Somewhere where you don't have to pretend to be my dance teacher." He said.

"Ex-dance teacher." Dean corrected. "So, non-alcoholic, guy-on-guy friendly." He nodded. "I'm sure we can find something; just remember you're the local. I'm from out of town." That said, Dean got to his feet, holding out a hand for Sam.

Sam couldn't quite believe what he was about to do. If there had been any lingering doubt as to whom he loved, and who he was in love with, the decision he was about to make would erase that doubt. He just had to make the choice: Dean, or Jess.

A corner of his lips turning up into a half-smile, Sam took Dean's hand. Dean pulled gently and Sam came to his feet; choice made.

"Let's go." Sam said.

-;-

Fifteen minutes later, Sam had expected to be somewhere… else. He hadn't expected to still be in the car while Dean drove around searching for somewhere for them to relax. And he was getting… restless, to say the least. Overwhelmed by desire to say the most.

"Dean." He finally said, thankfully in a reasonably private back road with very few houses, even fewer with actual inhabitants. "Stop the car." He had been trying to sound commanding, but it came out more as a strained moan. Dean looked over at him with a look halfway between confusion and surprise on his face. Then he saw the look on Sam's face, and with a sigh, pulled over onto the side of the road, bringing the car to a stop.

"What is it?" he asked. Sam sat for a couple of seconds, trying to keep himself under control.

_Screw that, _he thought a few seconds later. In one rather clumsy motion, his seatbelt was undone, and he was turning in his seat, leaning over and draping his arms around Dean's shoulders, one hand resting on the back of Dean's neck, and bringing their lips together.

Dean smiled hungrily into Sam's lips, putting his own hand on the back of Sam's head, his other hand falling to Sam's side, sliding up underneath his jacket and shirt, snaking around to his back and sending a tingling feeling up his spine.

Sam pulled back, surprised when he saw the burning desire he felt reflected in Dean's eyes. Surprised and pleased.

He stripped off his jacket, first one arm, wrapping it around Dean to pull him into another kiss, then the other arm, using to toss his jacket in some random direction. Luckily, that turned out to be the direction of the back seat, and not the open window.

He wrapped his second arm around Dean, his lips moving down to the older man's neck.

"No…" Sam vaguely recognized Dean's voice through the heated kissing. "No, wait." Dean pushed him back. "We can't do this." He said. A look of confusion, shock and hurt came to Sam's face, but Dean didn't seem to notice. He just sat there, taking deep breaths for a couple of seconds. "Not here." He finally said. He wiped his lips, and reached behind him, opening the door. "Get out of the car, there's an alley not far back." Sam stared at him, though he didn't seem to understand why Sam was staring at him.

"What?" Dean asked. Sam punched him. Lightly, and rather clumsily because there wasn't much room, but he still punched him. "What the- Why'd you do that?" He demanded.

"You… are a jerk." Sam said, taking long, deep breaths. "You… you… and I… because of the…?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down, Sam, I hear finishing sentences is in this year." Dean said. Sam nodded, still taking deep breaths. "Now, what's got your boxers in a twist?"

Sam considered mentioning he wasn't wearing boxers, but decided that was irrelevant at this point. "The car." He said. "You broke off one of greatest moments of my life… to haul me into some filthy alley… because you don't want to do the dirty in your car?" He stared at Dean like he was mad.

Dean returned the exact same look. "Well, yeah." He said, like that was explanation enough. Sam stared at him, trying to decide whether or not he wanted to punch him again.

He decided against it. "Get out." He ordered. Without waiting for Dean's answer, he got out of the car and walked around to the other side. As Dean climbed out, he grabbed Dean by the collar of his leather jacket and began walking, not giving Dean a chance to start moving.

They reached the alley, and Sam pulled Dean into it. As soon as they were out of sight of the street, Sam turned around, took hold of the front of Dean's jacket and shoved him up against the wall.

Dean stared at him, waiting for something to happen. He tried moving, but Sam just tightened his hold on his jacket, staring into his eyes.

And then he kissed him, pushing his body right up against Dean's, not giving the older man an inch to move. Dean had no choice but to kiss him back. Okay, he had a bit of a choice, but he didn't really need it. He wrapped his arms tight around Sam, pulling him even closer and deepening the kiss.

Sam felt shivers run up his spine as Dean's hand slipped beneath his shirt again, caressing the soft skin on his back and waist.

"Dean…" Sam gasped out. Dean nodded, or tried to nod without breaking the heated kiss. Not much luck, but Sam got the gist. He let go of Dean's jacket and moved his hands down to the fly of Dean's jeans, sliding the zipper down and undoing the button. An impatient moan escaped Dean; Sam was taking his time on purpose, the slimy little…

That line of thought was cut off abruptly as Sam's hands slipped into Dean's boxers, and then all Dean could really think was 'How the hell did he know to do that?', except not in actual words.

"Turn around." Sam ordered, his words almost lost between the sounds coming from the kiss and the moans of pleasure coming from Dean.

"What… are you… talking about?" Dean asked.

"Turn. Around. Now." Sam said slowly, the tone of his voice leaving no room for argument. It took him a few seconds, because he wasn't in that much of a hurry to break the kiss. But then Sam's hand tightened ever so slightly around his erected organ and he decided it was time to move, his lips leaving Sam's as he turned around. Sam's lips, however, did not leave Dean, trailing along his cheek and down onto his neck as Dean turned.

And then Sam seemed to lose interest in the lower part of Dean's body altogether. Oh yes, he seemed pleased that he now had Dean pressed flat against the wall with his pants down, his own erection driving into Dean's back as his lips and tongue now played with Dean's earlobe.

"Sam…" Dean whispered, not bothering to keep the urgency and impatience out of his voice. He was sure he felt Sam smile against his neck.

"Patience… is a virtue… Dean." He whispered huskily.

"Patience is an overrated excuse virgins use to put off the inevitable" Dean muttered, not really making sense even to himself. Sam smiled again, and Dean shivered as Sam's hands moved to slide his jacket down off his shoulders. "What the- Sam, in case you've forgotten, this is still a mildly-public place…"

"You chose… the venue…" Sam muttered, the jacket hitting the concrete at Sam's feet.

"I wasn't expecting us to… take so long."

"Mm-hmm."

"Sam? Sam, you're doing this on purpose."

"So what if I am?" Sam whispered in his ear. "You've had plenty of fun with me… now it's my turn to play." And with that, he lowered Dean's boxers down, and all Dean could really do was hope no one drove by any time soon.

He hadn't even heard Sam drop his own pants, but all of a sudden the younger man was inside of him, a little clumsily like everything else he did with Dean, but he succeeded nonetheless.

"You weren't this… eager last night," Dean moaned.

"Last night I was drunk and inexperienced." Sam whispered.

"You think one night gives you experience?"

"You think it doesn't?"

Dean fell silent after that, content to just bathe in Sam's touch, taking in everything about him through the connection they had established momentarily through their bodies. He couldn't explain it, but every time he was near Sam, every time he felt him pressed against his body, he felt as though the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders; he didn't have a care in the world, there was just the moment he was in and nothing else.

It was an unfamiliar feeling; growing up, he'd always had to carefully plan things out with his father before a hunt. Sure, most of it went to hell as soon as the hunt started, but it was always good to have a plan. He'd never been able to just stop and enjoy the moment before. Not for a long time, anyway.

All possibility of coherent thought was momentarily lost as Sam's hands tightened on his shoulders. He had maybe a second's forewarning before the younger man came inside of him.

Dean moaned with pleasure as he leaned back against Sam, resting his head against his shoulder. And then he came as well. Against the wall.

"Sammy…"

"Yeah…?"

"You're…"

He breathed out, unable to find the words. Unreal topped the list, but that didn't seem right somehow. Because he was right there, inside of him still, more real then anything in Dean's life had ever been.

"I'm what?" Sam asked.

"You're here." Was all Dean could say.

-;-

**A/N: I had a lot more planned for this chapter, but I got to where it is now and I thought 'I have to end it here' and so I did. **

**I finally thought up an excuse for the multiple make out/love sessions that have been happening. Sam's got something new. When a human being gets something new and exciting/interesting, said human's first instinct is to use it repeatedly, right? I think that's right. It could be wrong. But that's my excuse. Sam's just enjoying Dean while he's still new. **

**Things will cool off… no, wrong choice of words… things will go from boil to simmer after a while. Okay, so maybe I needn't have gone into so much detail, since there were details in only the previous chapter, but… what can I say? It's fun. Consider this stocking up, because the next few chapters will be… lacking Sam and Dean closeness, shall we say? Well, the next chapter will have a little, but not much, and then… then things start to develop into an actual story with less sex.**


	9. Behind Every Man

**Forever's Not Enough**

**Disclaimer**: See Prologue.

**Author's Note**: Let's not talk about the titles anymore, lol. I don't know how this one got so damn long. Oh, but someone actually likes them? Lol, will wonders never cease? Okays, I'll stop being a dork now.

Now, all the technical police stuff are just things I've pulled out of half-forgotten memories of cop shows and pieced together like a half-finished puzzle, so I don't know how good it turned out.

**Review Answers**: Almost forgot, but remembered just in time. Thank you again to all of you who are reviewing.

puplover77 – Whoops, you almost scared me, lol. But I'm glad you like it, even if some parts are a little… rough. Yes, sweet Sammy, not-so-sweet is fun. Have done, I hope this is soon enough.

FastFuriousChick – Yes! I was hoping someone would comment on that line. Thank you, I'm glad it makes sense. Thank you also… now if I could only remember what happened at the beginning, lol. Hot and sweet, my two favourite things. Not my two favourite tastes, however. Just a little piece of randomness from the author.

tvbatina – Thanks. Oh, yes, I thought it would be a great way to end it. Glad you agree. Thanks.

pandora jazz – Yes, it just seemed like the thing to be done. That's answering your first two comments. Yes, to all of that, thanks for saying (I admit, that's just me giving the simplest answer I can because my mind's numb and they're kind of all mixing together). And yes, I'm glad people seem to agree with my reasoning. Not going anywhere? You think so? (Evil smile). Ah yes, the ending, I'm glad you like it, it took a while, but I think it turned out pretty good, and people seemed to respond well to it. Your answers (sort of) will be in this chapter. More answers (I think) in the next one.

inu-kaglover45 – Thanks, that it does, lol. Oh, yay, good, good. I hope this is soon enough. Yes, I understand… time to put the lid on the steam for a while I think, hehe.

darkangel36 – The shapeshifter, actually. From Skin. It's just… before Skin. Timeline wise, if this were the actual series, this is… a few days before the Pilot would have started. The job John went to in the beginning was the Woman in White, from which he would've called Dean if this had been the series.  
Moving on to the rest of your review: Yes, they are cute. And yes, poor Jess. There's more hurt in store for her as well. Thank you, yes, sexy is good. Yes, he does. Oh, do you mean the bit I answered? Well, I'll leave the answer in case anyone hadn't understood that. Oh, yay, you can join my in the search for sanity (only those who have lost their minds my take part in it).

Miss Meehan – Thanks. Good to know, there's something of an explanation to what they are in this chapter. Sam's abilities are actually a little different (I wanted to add some more originality to this). Yes, I figured, he's been through a lot, he deserves to vent a little. RIP Garden Gnome, hehe. Yes, he definitely recognized Dean's voice, and what Dean was saying (Shifty smile). Remember his words for later. Thanks.

jackyll – Yes, new chapter. Yeah, poor Jess. Thomas… ah, yes… Thomas. I created him as a sort of guy people will love to hate (hoping this chapter will bring out that side of him), but there's a little more to him then meets the eye (will probably come out in the next chapter). Yes, they are. They really are. I agree, that is definitely not a bad thing. Here it is, hope the wait wasn't too long. Thanks.

Rose of No Man's Land – Okays, I may be a sucker for punishment, but even I'm not sucker enough to try and answer _everything_ you've said (though I love each and every individual comment; know that… bad Jack Sparrow moment, ignore me). Ah, good, I added in the photographic memory as just something that I hoped people would laugh at, glad it had the desired effect. Yes, even in this AU, Dean's first instinct is to look after Sam, even when he's drunk and a little crazy. Oooh, pondering, I want to ponder with too (ponders). Okay, done that. The answer is (sort of) in this chapter. Oh, good, I'm glad that was reasonably accurate. I was just listening to that song and I thought it fitted the way Sam was feeling pretty well. Yes, he is, hehe. Thank you.  
And, congratulations on being responsible for single-handedly bringing about probably the longest review answer I have ever/probably will ever write. Thanks, I'm glad someone takes notice of my titles (yes, a little sad, but appreciated; think of it this way: you're giving up your dignity to make me feel good, hehe). Yes, cuteness is fun to write. I'm glad you think I'm descriptive; it's always been the thing I'm most worried about because when I first started out writing the details and descriptions were what I always failed most at, so it's nice to know I've improved. Yes, Jess, someone's really got it in for the poor girl (looks skyward… then looks a little closer to home… like in the mirror).  
Oh, no, of course you weren't, hehe. Okay, this review answer is really beginning to make me consider using the review answer system (at least for you, lol). Yes, the controlling side Sam is one of my favourites, especially if he gets possessive or… you really don't need to hear this. Yes, I do, I'm glad you enjoy this story. Of course Sam, I love him senseless (which of us is senseless, I'm not yet sure), I have to write him well. Here it is, hope the wait wasn't too long. Yes, last line, much love for that, I'm glad I did so well. This answer is kind of ridiculously long; I'm probably not the only one who noticed this.

fairyntoad14 – Yes, 'fraid so. For now. Thanks. Oh, no, you can't stop breathing. You need to keep reviewing- I mean… it would be just terrible if you died from suffocation, really, honestly. Glad you love. This soon enough? Unfortunately, begging in this case would not have helped, as my muse and my darker half have ganged up on me and won't let me write anything but Sammy-torture (not for this chapter though).

Dean's-Goddess – That's good to know. Oh, because I'm trying to keep this story at least half-decent, and to do that I can't fill every chapter with sex, lol.

**Chapter 8**: Behind Every Man is the Man He's Seeing on the Side

It seemed pretty easy at first. They finished up what they were doing in the alley, pulled up their pants, and returned to the car. There shouldn't have been anything more to it then that, or so Sam thought. Turns out, this wasn't the best place for two guys to have sex. Also, it turns out, Dean's not a great lover of guys who bash guys who have sex with each other.

The groaning group of guys lying in awkward positions on the sidewalk were evidence of that. So now, on top of possible torture and assault (Sam had seen the way Thomas was eyeing him), he was now up for another assault charge. Sure, Dean had done most of the hitting, but Sam was pretty sure that'd be splitting hairs for Inspector Thomas.

"Okay," Dean said, nodding as he looked from the semi-conscious guys over to Sam. "We can go now." He said, giving Sam a pat on the shoulder as he walked passed him, not looking back as he returned to the car. Sam stayed for a few more seconds, and for some reason felt an amused smile come to his lips as he stared pityingly down at their would-be attackers. Shaking his head, he turned around and followed Dean back to the car.

"You know, you didn't have to be… quite as unforgiving back there," he said conversationally as they drove back towards the nicer part of town.

"They were still breathing, right?" Dean asked.

"More or less."

"Then I wasn't unforgiving."

Sam blinked, wondering if he should be scared or laugh. The look on Dean's face was totally serious.

"Uh… okay." He said.

The car was filled with an awkward silence, one neither man seemed able to fill. Finally, Sam turned the tape player on, thinking anything was better then awkward silence.

He turned right back off again, discovering he'd been wrong; there were things worse then awkward silence.

"Is this going to happen every time we have sex?" He finally asked. Dean snorted.

"'Every time'?" Dean echoed. "In case you've forgotten, Sam… that was only our second time. And the first time, you cleared out before we had a chance for the awkward silence. So, as far as I'm concerned, this is your fault for not getting it out of the way the first time."

"'Getting it out of the way'?" Sam was the one who echoed this time. "What, is it like, some tradition that awkward silence follows the first time two guys have sex?"

"I wouldn't know, I'm always gone before the other guy wakes up." Dean said. Sam blinked, and Dean gave him a grin. "I guess not though; we seem to be doing okay." He raised an eyebrow, actually smiling now. Sam blinked, rolled his eyes, but he smiled as well.

"You're crazy, you know that?" He asked.

"Yeah, well… take's one to know one." Dean shot back.

They continued in this vein for some time, driving back to Dean's motel room. It was almost enough to take Sam's mind off Jessica and what had happened to her.

They were almost back at the motel when Dean's tone turned serious. "Hey, Sam." He said. "What did you hear yesterday?" Sam's brow furrowed.

"Hear?" He asked.

"Yeah, at the park, do you remember?"

Sam bit his lip; he did. Despite his intoxication, the voices stuck out in his memory as though he'd been completely sober.

"I… thought… I could hear my father…" He said slowly. "He was arguing with my stepmother about the break in at Jess's. And he… he thinks I did it." Dean's eyes widened. That certainly explained Sam's outburst. What that didn't explain was why Sam was hearing an argument in the first place.

"Has it happened before?" He asked.

Sam bit his lips, memories of before he became drunk- of the reason he became drunk- coming to the surface. Dean's enraged voice, the angry, hurt-filled words he'd shouted at Sam. The ones that Sam had been sure were all in his head.

"No." He said. "That was the first time I heard actual voices."

"Actual voices?" Dean asked. "What, you've heard something else?"

"Well… maybe… I don't know." Sam frowned. "I wouldn't say… heard. But sometimes… I don't know… I feel like someone's whispering in my ear… it's like I'm remembering something I never heard, and yet…" He shook his head. "That doesn't make any sense." He muttered.

It made enough sense to Dean. Now, if he could only figure out what it meant. Sure, there were cases of people hearing voices, knowing things they couldn't. Telepaths, clairaudients, and people with ESP were just a couple of cases where the things Sam had just described had happened. The question was, why was Sam displaying such abilities?

And why did it have to be at the exact same time Dean was in town? Coincidence? Probably not. Coincidence's were few and far between in Dean's life.

"Why?" Sam asked suddenly. Dean glanced over, and didn't know why he was surprised by the question; most people would think 'Oh, he's hearing voices?' and then ship him off to a mental institution. Lucky for Sam, Dean wasn't most people.

"I… okay, this is going to sound strange, but…" _Lie, Dean! Lie your ass of._ "I read up a lot about… psychic phenomena's." Okay, that seemed almost believable. "And I just thought-"

Whatever he'd just thought, Sam would never know. At that moment, they had reached the motel, and there was a police car waiting outside of Dean's motel room. They exchanged glances, and then Dean came to a stop in one of the parking spaces, and the two of them climbed out of the car.

"Hello?" Dean called out, looking around. He looked over at Sam, who gave a shrug, though the younger man looked a little on edge. Not surprising; from what Dean could gather, Sam had bent a few laws on more then one occasion, it was only natural that he'd be a bit uneasy with the possibility of cops looking for him, especially after what happened to Jess.

"Well, they can't just have parked here and walked off." Sam said. "I mean, it just wouldn't-" He stopped suddenly, and Dean saw three reasons coming from three different directions, all three with guns pointed at Sam.

"Don't move." Inspector Thomas orders, his gun pointed right at Sam's chest. "Keep your hands where I can see them." Sam raised his hands slowly. While the two other cops moved so that their guns were aimed directly at Sam's chest as well, Thomas walked around behind Sam, taking out his handcuffs.

"Sam Adams, you are under arrest for the torture and attempted murder of Jessica Moore-"

"What the hell?" Dean interrupted. Four pairs of eyes turned to him (yes, Sam's included), but he kept on. "You already know he was with me. And he was so drunk he couldn't have walked a crooked line, let alone gotten there and done… all that stuff." Inspector Thomas scoffed.

"Yes, well, somehow, I'm inclined to believe the young woman currently lying in a hospital bed, over the man he's been screwing on the side." He snapped. Sam saw Dean stiffen; saw his fists clench. Thomas didn't, continuing, completely oblivious to Dean's anger. "So unless you want to be arrested for obstructing police business, I suggest you move along."

"I've got a better idea," Dean said. "How about I-"

"Dean." Sam interrupted. "It's not going to do me any good if both of us are sleeping behind bars tonight." He shrugged, and then winced as the inspector tightened the handcuffs a tiny bit more then was necessary.

"Listen to your boyfriend." Thomas said mockingly. "Get him a good lawyer, although I should warn you; nothing short of a miracle is going to get him out of this one." Dean turned a surprised look to Sam as Thomas began ushering him towards the police car.

"_This time_?" He mouthed at Sam, who shrugged, a sheepish look on his face. Dean seriously hoped any previous charges Thomas had referred to were of the insignificant variety. He hoped that if they hadn't been, Sam would like a little more then merely sheepish.

And if not, well… he'd jump off that bridge when he came to it. In the mean time, his main focus was to do just as Thomas had said; go out and find a miracle to clear Sam of the charges. Because, short of breaking him out of jail, a miracle seemed the only way to do it. Dean had no doubt that the shapeshifter was responsible for what had happened to Jess, and it's previous victims (the ones who had taken the blame) would be doing little more rotting in their cells for a few decades, if they were even still alive, and Dean knew that with such damning evidence, that's exactly what Sam would be doing. So, Dean had to get him a solid alibi. Preferably, one that didn't involve Dean himself, because Thomas appeared to have some issues two guys sharing a bed (or an alley, but that was really getting off-topic).

"Don't worry, Sammy," Dean muttered as Thomas manhandled Sam into the back seat of police car. One of the cops climbed in beside him, while Thomas and the other cop got in the front. "Don't worry." He repeated, and then he turned to headed into the motel room. He had to grab a few things, and then he had to go back to that park and see if there was anyone he recognized from the day before.

If he could find someone who would agree with him that Sam had gotten too drunk to do anything besides pass out, then maybe, just maybe, he could get Sam out.

"On the other hand…" Dean muttered about half an hour later. He'd seen four people he recognized so far; a little old lady who was going blind, a man who immediately had somewhere else to be as soon as Dean started to approach him, and two women who'd been jogging so fast with their earphones stuck so deep in their ears the wouldn't have heard a bomb go off beside them, let alone notice whether there had been a man getting effectively intoxicated in the park the day before.

Not one of these people were any help to Dean, and he was considering Thomas's other suggestion: get a lawyer. Dean was pretty sure he'd heard that Sam's father was a lawyer, and he was now weighing up some possible outcomes of asking him.

The first being that Mr. Adams may not even help Sam, considering that their father-son relationship, at least the way Sam described it, made Antarctica look like a sunny paradise.

Dean was also concerned about his own life expectancy Mr. Adams did help, and Sam found out that his father had been responsible for his release. Heads would roll, at the very least. Probably just one, actually; Dean's… literally, across the floor.

He shook his head, clearing it of those thoughts. Time for that later; time for getting Sam out of jail now.

He leaned back in the front seat of the impala, trying to decide what to do. Just as he was really beginning to consider going to Sam's house to ask for help from his father, something, or rather, someone, caught his eyes outside. He leaned out the window, and what he saw shocked him:

Sam, sitting on a park bench, eyeing a young couple sitting at a bench of there own not that far away. Except Dean knew for a fact that this wasn't Sam, because there was no way even Sam's father could've gotten him out after just half an hour.

He leaned back in, the beginnings of a plan beginning to form in his mind. He opened the car door and got out, walking casually over to where the shapeshifter was sitting.

"Hey, Sam, that you?" He asked as soon as he was close enough. The shapeshifter turned to look at him, a surprised look on Sam's face.

"Dean," he exclaimed, and Dean could see in his eyes that he suddenly wanted to be anywhere but there. "I- Yeah, it's me. How are you doing?" He asked.

"Good." Dean said nonchalantly. He was surprised the shapeshifter knew who he was; that meant one of two things: it had been following Sam and knew some things about him. Or it was somehow downloading his memories. If it was the latter, Dean could only hope it hadn't gotten to the last couple of hours, or else his plan was screwed.

"So, uh, about last night…" The shapeshifter bit his lip, looking exactly like Sam. "I hope I wasn't, uh, too rough. I guess I kind of got… carried away." He said, looking hopefully at Dean.

"No, you weren't too rough," Dean said with a grin. Sam raised an eyebrow. "Okay, yes, you were a little rough." He admitted. "But that's okay, I like it rough sometimes." His grin got a little mischievous, and he leaned in closer. "Want to go back to the motel?" He asked, focusing on anything but his eyes; if he looked in his eyes he'd be able to tell right away it wasn't Sam.

A pleasantly surprised look came to Sam's face, and Dean could practically see the shapeshifter's thoughts and ideas darting around behind his eyes.

"Okay." He said, in Sam's voice. It was so perfect. Dean almost wanted to believe… "Did you drive or are we walking?" Sam's voice cut into his thoughts.

"Drove." He said. He raised an eyebrow suggestively. "Shall we go?"

The shapeshifter grinned, getting to his feet.

"Yeah," he said. "Let's go."

-;-

"Hey, Dean, you okay?" the shapeshifter asked, looking over at Dean with concern in his eyes. Dean nodded quickly, though the white knuckles and the death-grip he had on the steering wheel probably contradicted the nod. "You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, Sam." Dean tried not to snap, but it didn't work very well. He hadn't thought this through properly. Three days with Sam and careful planning had gone out the window. He'd just thrown himself into it without considering any of the possible ways it could go wrong.

For instance, if he did somehow figure out what Dean was doing, the shapeshifter was a great deal faster and stronger then the average person (meaning Dean). Another thing he hadn't thought of was that he had no idea how he'd subdue it when he got back to the motel room. And that the shapeshifter also happened to be responsible for at least a dozen murders, and Dean could very well end up being the next one on the list if he wasn't careful.

Luckily for Dean, none of these possibilities seemed to factor in; the shapeshifter seemed completely oblivious to Dean knowing he wasn't Sam.

"Hey, Sam," he said as they pulled up n the motel parking lot. He took out the room keys and handed them to the shapeshifter. "Meet me inside, there's something I have to get." The shapeshifter nodded, getting out of the car.

"Sure, I'll see you in there." He said, leaving Dean on his own.

Dean waited until the door to the room had closed before climbing out of the car and walking around to the trunk, popping it open and then lifting the false-floor, revealing his arsenal. He bit his lips, thinking for a few minutes before choosing what he'd need. Then he lowered the floor once again, and closed down the trunk, slipping the gun into an inner pocket of his jacket.

When he entered the motel room, the shapeshifter- it was so hard to convince himself that wasn't actually Sam- was sitting on the end of the bed. He raised an eyebrow when he saw what Dean was holding in his hand.

Dean raised the handcuffs, a suggestive smile on his face. "Wanna have some fun?" He asked.

-;-

It had actually been a lot easier then Dean had expected. Either Sam had a few secret desires he was yet to tell Dean about, or the shapeshifter was no longer trying very hard to stay in-character. Either way, it had taken Dean maybe ten seconds to convince the shapeshifter to let him handcuff him to the bed.

And damnit, Dean couldn't help going hard looking at his chained up lover, even if it wasn't really Sam sitting there on the bed. The shapeshifter was now getting a little nervous about why Dean was taking so long to come over and 'have some fun' as he had put it.

His eyes widened when Dean took out the gun. He tried to move, but the handcuffs did their job, holding him in please. If he'd been given time, he might've been able to break free, but Dean didn't give him the chance to test that theory. A split second's hesitation when he saw what looked like genuine fear in Sam's eyes, and then he fired the gun.

The tranq-dart hit the shapeshifter at the base of his neck, and after a few seconds, his struggles became somewhat sluggish, and then he slumped back against the bed.

"Well, that _was _fun," Dean muttered, sliding the gun back into his jacket. "Next time… pick someone else's guy to impersonate." He moved forward, taking out the keys to the handcuffs. He unlocked the cuff around the bed post, and after a moment's hesitation, unlocked the one around his wrist as well, and let the shapeshifter's arm fall, leaning down and grabbing Sam's shirt off the floor and sliding the shapeshifter's arms into it (with some difficulty). After buttoning up the front of the shirt (just enough so that he was decent), let him fall rather unceremoniously back onto the bed.

If Dean had been thinking clearly, he would have taken out his gun a put a silver bullet in the shapeshifter's chest then and there. If Dean's thoughts had not been occupied totally by Sam, it wouldn't have been a tranq-dart in the first place. But he wasn't and they were, and all Dean could really think about was getting Sam cleared of the charges he'd been accused of.

Glaring down at the shapeshifter, sighed, pocketing the handcuffs and then bending down, lifting the shapeshifter's arm up and draping it over his own shoulder and lifting the unconscious shapeshifter to his feet.

"Jeez, Sam, if this thing has stolen your weight as well as your face, you need to start laying off the hamburgers." He muttered, hauling Sam's dead weight to the door, and pushing it open. No one paid attention to him as he staggered towards the impala; anyone who saw him now would've seen him helping Sam _from _the car to the room the day before.

With little-to-no care, he dumped the shapeshifter into the front passenger seat of the impala, walked around, and got in on the driver's side.

"So, Sammy, how do you feel about spending some time in the slammer?" Dean asked cheerfully as he pulled out of the parking lot. He looked over at the unconscious shapeshifter. "Well, don't worry. I'm sure you'll do fine." He tilted his head slightly, as if hearing something. "Oh, no, I'm sure there'll be plenty of inmates for you to maim and torture once in you're in prison for twenty-five-to-life."

He probably looked a little crazy, sitting in the car talking to an unconscious 'man', but he couldn't really help it. That tiny little child he never got to be was creeping out to taunt the unconscious shapeshifter, and he never could fight that urge. For some reason it had gotten even harder these last few days; maybe being around Sam who, it would appear, was yet to properly grow up, was bringing out the immature side of him. The one buried along with everything else.

Okay, that spoiled it. He just had to think about the real Sam, didn't he? With a sigh, he focused all his attention on the road (as opposed to before, when he was only focusing about sixty-percent of his attention). He really didn't understand how Sam could make him feel so twisted up in knots without even trying. Not even Cassie had had such a disastrous effect on him. And he had thought he'd… really cared about her as well.

He took a deep breath as he approached the police station. Here he was; time to face the music. Or however the hell that saying went. As he pulled up by the sidewalk, he looked over at the unconscious shapeshifter.

"Well, fella', looks like this is where you and I part ways." He slapped the shapeshifter's thigh. "It was lousy to meet you but it's great to say goodbye." And with that, he opened the driver's door, climbing out slowly. Time to be rid of the shapeshifter and get his real Sammy back.

-;-

**A/N: Another chapter that was originally meant to go longer, but I just figured you guys had waited long enough, and since the chapter was now of decent size, I would give it to you. What do you think will happen? How will Inspector Thomas react to Sam's exact duplicate? That and more will be revealed in the next chapter (somebody missing an episode narrator? I think I swallowed him).**


	10. The Weight of Stones and Feathers

**Forever's Not Enough**

**Disclaimer**: See Prologue. Lureen Reynolds is mine.

**Author's Note**: I know I said titles would no longer be mentioned, but I can't seem to help myself. Chapter title was inspired by the song 'Stones and Feathers' by Alex Parks.

I hope this chapter doesn't seem too much like 'The Usual Suspects' episode, hehe. I've watched it a couple of times and it's on the brain right now.

More not-quite-accurate and half-time cop technicals. Ain't this fun? No, I don't need to be told that it would probably take a lot longer for all this to happen in real life.

In regards to the ranks, like so many other things, I'm just using what I remember from Charmed. One guy was an Inspector, and then he got promoted to Lieutenant. So I figured a Lieutenant could outrank an Inspector. That's my logic and I'm sticking to it.

And finally, St. Louis is probably nothing like how I'm portraying it. I'm sure most of your have already figured that out, but I wanted to make it official: I know nothing about writing locations.

**Review Answers**: Yes! One-hundred reviews! Thank you one and all!

spootycup – Thank you. Yes, it was inevitable, Sam belongs with Dean. In this universe anyway. Glad you liked, thank you for reviewing.

roxy071288 – Good to know. Here's more. Thank you for reviewing.

jackyll – Ah, just the reaction I was hoping for, hehe. Oh, yes, hmmm… Oh, good, yes, that is exactly how I was trying to make him seem (nods). More of that in this chapter. Ah, yes, don't worry Sammy, Dean's coming to save you (in this and every other universe, lol).

Spuffyshipper – Thanks. Soon enough? Yes, shapeshifter bad. Hehe, more badness soon. Just an incapacitated shapeshifter in this chapter.

puplover77 – Don't worry, he'll do… well… I'm not going to spoil it. You'll have to read to find out what he does. Yay, good to know. This soon enough?

FastFuriousChick - Oh, I think you may have said it before, lol. Yeah, poor Dean, got Sammy on the brain. Well, I can't help what Dean thinks. Okay, yes I can, but… well… er… (runs and hides).

inu-kaglover45 – Thanks, good to know. Wow, thank you. Here it is, hope it's soon enough.

pandora jazz – Yes, when has Dean not tried to help Sam, lol. No matter what universe they're in, whether they're brothers or not, it seems to be what Dean always ends up doing. Yes, uh… hehe, not really sure how he'll respond yet, lol. You're welcome.

Wolf-of-Insanity – Thanks. Yes, I like messing with Dean's head, plus the shapeshifter has quite a few things left to tick off his to-do list before I can kill him. Thanks.

Miss Meehan – Yes, that about sums it up. Yes, someone should. Doubtful he will though, hehe. Yes, sorry Jess, Sam has a very specific future, and you're not in it. Oh, thank you, it just seemed like the thing for him to say. Glad I'm doing so well, and yes, I figured Dean deserved to wake up happy for once.  
You don't trust me? Hehe, probably a good thing. Let's see… can't remember right now if it'll come back to haunt him… probably, knowing me, hehe.  
Oh, and congratulations: You have written the one-hundredth review! You don't win anything, but you have my eternal gratitude for doing so.

fairyntoad14 – Thanks. Yes, he did. That's a good question. Read on to find out. Good to know. This soon enough?

Rose of No Man's Land – Oh, thank you, that's so nice of you to say. Yeah, well, can't have a slash fic without Sam getting arrested, lol. Last time it was an incubus, this time it's a shapeshifter. Either way, the demons are conspiring against him and they're using the law to carry out their plans (evil laugh).  
Yes, Dean, always there to pull him out of hot water. Or, if that doesn't work, dive in after him. Yes, that flaw will be introduced sometime soon (though I don't think it's in this chapter). Yes, I just felt frustrated, so I took it out on some guys and used Dean as my minion, hehe. It's always fun to have Dean beat up a bunch of guys. For me, anyway.  
I think so, but it makes me feel so good to hear (read, lol) you say/write it! Seeing as how much I love your stories, having you compliment mine is a huge rush to the ego. Thank you again.

darkangel36 – Just in time. Any longer and you would've had to wait till next chapter. Yes, he does. Hmmm, you'll have to read on to find out. Thanks.

**Chapter 9**: The Weight of Stones and Feathers

Sam glanced around the interview room, the initial nervousness about being arrested having long-since given way to boredom. Was it even legal to leave him here this long, handcuffed to the table? What if he suddenly had a heart-attack? No one would be there to save him. Or worse yet, what if he needed to go to the bathroom? Sam was not known for having a patient bladder.

His eyes fell on the mirror on one side of the room, which he knew for a fact was actually a window from the other side, and wondered if anyone was watching him. He waved at his reflection, just so they (if anyone was there) knew he knew they were there.

"I'm about to wet my pants." He called in a cheerful voice, not really expecting any response. To his surprise, the door opened about a minute later and Inspector Thomas walked in, though it was obviously not to take Sam to the bathroom.

"Mr. Adams." He said, sitting down in the chair opposite Sam.

"Mr. Smith." Sam said with a grin. Thomas glared at him, and Sam deflated a little. "Okay, not a Matrix fan." He muttered. Thomas grunted, and then reached over to a tape player, inserted a tape, and hit the record button.

"Interview of Sam Adams started at two-thirty-five p.m., by Inspector Jim Thomas." He stated. Sam rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair as far as the handcuffs would allow. "Now, Sam. Let's talk about Jessica." Thomas said, leaning forward.

"Jessica?" Sam echoed. "First name basis. Okay."

"What?" Thomas asked.

"I. Didn't. Hurt. Her." Sam said, emphasizing each word. "I never have. And I _never _would."

"Well, I've got a room full of DNA that says differently." Thomas stated. "Not to mention a pretty clear eye-witness statement."

"Yeah," Sam said. "A statement made by someone who just spent at least a few hours last night being tortured by some lunatic." _Sorry, Jess,_ he thought; he felt a little guilty implying that Jess didn't know what she was talking about. Of course, he knew for a fact that she didn't; she couldn't. He had been with Dean all night, and even if he hadn't, there was no way he'd have done those things to Jess.

All that was thought in less then a second, before barely a second after that, Inspector Thomas had reached over and grabbed a fist-full of Sam's shirt, pulling almost forward onto the table. He settled for just pulling Sam so hard the edge of the table slammed into his ribs, eliciting a sharp wince from Sam.

"Don't you dare talk about her like that, you son of a bitch!" Thomas snapped. A hint of fear flickered into Sam's eyes, but was quickly covered up by cockiness that he knew annoyed cops to no end.

"So it's personal, then." He said. Thomas glared at him, and then shoved him back down into the seat.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, getting to his feet. Sam noticed that he pressed the 'stop' button on the tape player. Clearly, he knew perfectly well what Sam was talking about.

"I thought you just had something against… two guys." Sam said, resting his hands on the edge of the table as he leaned forward. "But it's more then that. There's something about me you really hate." Thomas glared over at him, and Sam frowned, trying to put the puzzle together. "No… not me. Jess… it has something to do with Jess." It was a statement, not a question.

Thomas gave a hollow laugh. "I knew it from the moment I saw you; she deserved so much better then the likes of you. Before she met you, she had actual plans beyond drinking and partying. She gave them all up to be with you, against everything we said." He walked over to his side of the table and stood menacingly over Sam, who leaned back a bit. "And how do you repay her? By going out and bedding the first man that catches your eye."

Sam scoffed. "So, what, that's it? That's why you're so determined to condemn me? Because I cheated on-"

"My daughter." Thomas cut across him. Sam's eyes widened. "That's right. That's my daughter lying in a hospital bed fighting for her life because of you." His hands were tight around Sam's arms the next instant, pinning the young man against the back of the chair. "What happened, Sam? You wanted to end it quickly? Couldn't handle telling her the truth so you decided to just-"

"No," Sam interrupted. "That's not what happened!"

"Oh, I think it is. But you were enjoying yourself, weren't you? You enjoyed having her there, at your mercy. You enjoyed her pain, admit it!" Thomas growled, and Sam was really beginning to get scared now.

"No, I didn't do it." He told the inspector, desperation creeping into his voice. "Let go, you're- you're hurting me."

"Did you stop when she asked you to, hmm?" Thomas demanded. "No, you kept on going. You-"

"That's enough, inspector!" Sam turned a look halfway between fearful and relieved at the door, where two cops now stood, one of whom was the woman who seemed to constantly be around in his time of troubles. It was she who had spoken.

She walked over to the tape player and hit the record button. "Interview suspended at two-forty-seven p.m. by Lieutenant Lureen Reynolds." She said, and then hit the stop button, and then turned back to Inspector Thomas, who was yet to let go of Sam. "Okay, Jim, why don't you let the boy go, and we can talk about this outside like civilized adults." She said.

"Lureen, I was just about to-"

"Now, inspector." Reynolds ordered. Thomas glared at Sam, and then shoved him back in his seat, following Lieutenant Reynolds out of the room. The third cop, a lowly constable who looked like he might be afraid of his own shadow, was left to 'keep Sam company'.

-;-

"How'd you like to be up for an assault charge?" Lureen asked as she walked with Jim down the hall. "Because that's the exact direction you were heading when I came into that room." Jim shot her a sceptical look.

"I was just trying to get him to admit-"

"To something he possibly didn't do." Lureen interrupted him. Jim sped up, stepping front of her and turning to face her.

"You don't really believe that's a possibility?" he demanded. She nodded.

"Actually, Jim, I do." She pointed to their left, and he looked over, and saw two guys sitting not far away. One of them was the guy Jim suspected Sam of sleeping with. And the other guy was – Sam? No, Sam was still in the interview room. Though unconscious, it was obvious, even to Jim, that he was an exact duplicate of Sam Adams.

"Uh-huh." Lureen said with a nod. "He came in about five minutes ago carrying the… twin." She said, not sure if there was any other explanation, even though she was almost positive the only sibling Sam Adams had was a half-sister. "Can I trust you not to attack him if I leave you… three in the same room?" She asked, glancing over at the two young men again.

Jim glared at the young man who had brought Sam's 'twin' in, Dean, he was pretty sure Sam had called him.

Dean noticed, and gave him a cocky smile, eyebrows raised as he nodded towards his unconscious companion.

"I can handle it," Jim said with a nod at Lureen. She seemed a little sceptical, but obviously decided to give him the benefit of the doubt for them moment.

"Okay, then, if you'd be so kind as to escort them to an interview room," she said, "I'll see what I can do to smooth over your… previous interview." With that, she turned and left, heading back to the interview room Sam was being held in.

-;-

"So," Inspector Thomas said, sitting down opposite Dean in the interview room. "You mind telling me how you did it?" he asked.

"'It'?" Dean asked, confused by the question. Beside him, 'John' (he wasn't feeling very imaginative when he was asked for the guy's name) was slumped in a chair, still unconscious.

"How did you find him?" Thomas asked. "I find it a little hard to believe he just landed at your feet, unconscious and ready to take the blame from someone else's crime."

"Well, actually, I met him at the park; you see, I went there to try and find a couple of witnesses to attest to the fact that Sam was intoxicated yesterday and therefore incapable of attacking Jessica," Dean said. "I saw him and I thought Sam had gotten off somehow. He said yes, and we went back to the motel." And that was when all semblance of truth left the story. "Once we got back to the motel he pulled a gun out, and he told me strip down or he'd stick the gun under my chin and blow my brains out."

He glanced up at Inspector Thomas, not sure what to expect. A neutral look hid whatever it was Thomas thought of his story so far, so he continued. "He got distracted, I think it was someone's car alarm, and I tried to get the gun away from him. We fought; the gun went off, and… I guess it hit him." He said with a shrug.

At this point, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the tranq-dart he'd shot the shapeshifter with back at the motel.

"I'm guessing that would've hurt a lot more then a bullet, going up through my chin?" he said, glancing up at Inspector Thomas. The inspector frowned, leaning back in his chair.

"Well… it's a very interesting story," he said. "If not for the evidence of Sam's guilt that we already have, I might almost believe it."

Dean blinked, a little annoyed. "Evidence?" He asked.

"Yeah, a little thing called DNA." Thomas said. "Not to mention fingerprints; even twins have different fingerprints, and they were Sam's at the crime scene." Dean nodded, a thoughtful look on his face.

He turned to the shapeshifter, and pulled a couple of hairs from his scalp. "'DNA'." He echoed. He dropped the hairs onto the table top. "I think you'll find that if you were to get that checked out, it would match Sam's exactly." His cocky grin returned. "And I think the same can be said for his fingerprints."

"Oh, you think so, do you?" Thomas asked. "Tell me, will it be his DNA that was under Jessica's fingernails?" he asked, pointing to the shapeshifter. Dean frowned. She scratched him?

Something suddenly occurred to Dean. "Was her DNA under his?" he asked.

"What?"

"Jessica's DNA. Her attacker scratched her with his own fingernails; did you check for her DNA was beneath Sam's fingernails?" Dean asked. "For that matter, did you even try to find out if Sam had any scratches anywhere on his body?"

Thomas was staring at Dean, shock evident in his eyes. "How did you know about the scratches?" he asked. Dean smiled, his eyebrows raised.

"You just told me," he said. Later on he'd have to stop and think about how he _did_ know about the scratches. But that was later, after Sam was free. "So, you wanna be the good guy and get actual proof of who did this, or do you wanna keep being a stuck-up ass and hold my friend for a crime he didn't commit?"

Thomas stared at him for a long, agonizing minute, and Dean wondered what it was the Inspector was going to do.

-;-

"Are you happy with the way you've been treated today?" Lieutenant Reynolds asked.

"I'm ecstatic, can I go now?" Sam asked, practically jumping up and down on the spot with impatience.

Some two or three hours after Dean had showed up at the police station with some sort of new evidence (he'd asked Dean what that evidence was, and all he'd gotten was a pat on the shoulder and a murmured "The less you know the better," from Dean), he was finally being released.

"Yes, you can go," Reynolds said. Sam nodded thankfully, and turned towards Dean. "Oh, and Sam." He turned an irritated look back at the lieutenant. "Stay out of trouble."

He gave her his best innocent look. "Would this face cause trouble?" He asked.

"Yeah, a great deal of it," Reynolds said with a nod. "Alright, get out of here." She said, waving her hand in dismissal.

Back outside, Sam had about a second to enjoy the concept of freedom, before Dean led him into an alley, grabbed him by the front of his shirt and brought their lips together. Sam gladly returned the kiss for a couple of seconds, and then he hesitated. Dean felt it, and pulled back.

"Something wrong?" he asked. Sam bit his lip, and nodded.

"I can't do this… again, now… yet." He seemed unsure which it was. "I need to end it with Jess first. Properly. I… I can't keep doing this while she thinks I'm still…" He was unsure what the right way to say it was.

Luckily, Dean seemed to understand. He stared at Sam, for what seemed like forever, and in that time Sam was worried he'd done the wrong thing. Then Dean leaned up and gave him the briefest kiss, their lips barely touching.

"I can wait." He said, giving Sam a half smile. Sam sighed with relief, giving Dean a smile of his own.

"Thanks." He said. "Can you… uh… drop me off at the florist? I'll walk to the hospital from there."

"Sure can," Dean said with a nod. He and Sam left the alley, returning to the impala.

The drive to the florist was nowhere near as long as Dean had expected; in fact, he wondered why it was Sam had wanted a lift. It would've taken him maybe fifteen minutes to walk there. Not that he would've passed up the chance to spend more time with Sam, he just didn't really understand the younger man sometimes.

"Hey," he said, just as Sam was getting out of the car. Sam turned to look at him. "If you need me, after you…" He trailed off. "Well, just give me a call, and I'll be there." Sam smiled.

"Yeah, I will." He said. "See you then." And with that, he turned and left. Dean watched him walk into the florist.

"Yeah… see you." He said.

-;-

Sam knocked gently on the doorframe, looking into the room Jess was recovering in. "Jess?" he whispered. She was lying on the bed, facing away from the door. "Can I come in?" he asked. He waited for a few seconds, and when there was no response, thought maybe she was asleep.

Swallowing, he walked slowly into the room, holding up the bouquet of flowers he'd bought. "You, uh, you always said roses were dumb, so…" He trailed off, laying the flowers down on the bedside table. "Jess, I…" His voice cracked, and he sat down in the chair beside her bed, reaching out to lay a hand on her shoulder.

She flinched just before he made contact, as if she'd sensed his presence. He pulled his hand back, and she rolled over to look at him. Sam could see she'd been crying.

"Sam?" she asked weakly, blinking him into focus.

"Yeah, Jess, it's… it's me." He said, almost hopefully.

Jess blinked again, and when she opened her eyes again they were filled with hurt and anger. "Get out," she said, her voice shaking.

"Wh- what?" Sam asked. He thought he already knew the answer.

"Get out of here, Sam." She said, glaring at him. "I don't… want to see you."

"Jess, I-"

"No!" Jess all-but shouted. "You should've told me!" She said accusingly. "You let me go on thinking I still meant something to you while you were… while you…" Tears fell anew, and all Sam could do was sit and stare at her.

"You… you do." He whispered. "I… I'll always-"

"Don't say it." Jess growled, glaring daggers at Sam through the tears. "Don't you dare sit there with your hand in that… man's pants, and tell me you still love me. People don't hurt the people they love, Sam. They don't go out and find someone knew when they love someone else."

"I didn't-"

"Yes, you did." Their eyes were locked, neither able to break away. "You're still doing it, Sam. You're sitting their and you're saying you love me but you don't. You don't…" And it seemed as though it had taken until then for it to really sink in, for both of them. It was over. Sam had made his decision, and now they both had to live with it.

She bowed her head, tears raining down unchecked from her eyes. Out of habit, more then anything, Sam reached over to put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Jess-"

"No." She said, swatting his hand away from her own. She looked up at him. "Just… no. You did this, Sam. Now… please, just go."

"But-"

"Go!" She shouted at him. "Get out!" Sam was on his feet and backing away before he'd even really heard her shout the second time. He was at the door by the time the last word left her lips.

He gave her one last, sad look at the door. "I'm… sorry." He whispered. And then he left. As the door closed, Jess rolled back over, her back to the door, and cried softly, hugging one of her pillows to her chest.

-;-

Dean sighed, checking his watch for what seemed like the sixtieth time that minute. It had been maybe an hour and a half since he'd dropped Sam off at the florist; he knew it wouldn't take Sam more then ten or fifteen minutes to get from the florist to the hospital, and even if he had taken his time buying flowers, Dean was sure it had been at least half an hour since Sam had arrived at the hospital. And he was beginning to get worried something had gone wrong.

He came to the conclusion that maybe he'd put his cell phone on silent or something, and so he hadn't heard Sam call when he had. Yeah, that had to be it.

Nodding to himself, Dean reached into his pocket to see if Sam had left a message. His hand closed around empty air.

Frowning, he searched the other pockets of both his jacket and jeans. No cell phone. Well, no wonder he hadn't heard Sam call. Wondering what he could've done with it, he took out his wallet and headed for the payphone at the other end of the bar. He'd dropped some change in and raised his hand to dial in the number before he came to a surprising realisation: he didn't know Sam's cell phone number. He didn't even know if Sam had a cell phone.

He frowned, wondering what to do now. Putting the phone back onto the receiver, he turned around, walking away without even thinking about the change he'd inserted into the payphone.

Ten minutes later, he was leaning against the impala, staring up at the house Sam's father owned. He wanted to be there in case Sam needed to- he couldn't believe he was thinking this- _talk_. But he also didn't want to impose on the younger man if he needed some space.

After about a minute of contemplation, he decided that now he was here he might as well announce his presence, so that Sam could tell him whether or not to stay. He walked up to the front door and rang the doorbell, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he waited for Sam (or the 'house keeper') to answer.

A couple of seconds later, the door opened, and there stood Sam. His eyes were red, and his cheeks were tear streaked. As soon as he saw Dean, he reached forward and wrapped his arms around his chest, resting his head against Dean's shoulder.

"I've been trying to call you for…"

"I'm sorry," Dean whispered. "I must've left my cell back at the motel. I came as soon as I realized." Okay, not the complete truth, but it was what Sam needed to hear. A little awkwardly, Dean wrapped his arms around Sam, trying to be comforting. Sam sank into his embrace, crying softly.

"I should've told her, Dean," he sobbed. "I should've told her as soon as it happened but…" He couldn't finish, and Dean didn't make him. He did, however, try to ease both of them into the house. He doubted Sam wanted anyone else, least of all his neighbours, to know just yet that he was so casually intimate with another man.

Somehow, he managed to get them inside, and kicked the door closed behind them. As they came out into the hallway, Dean started to wonder how he was going to get Sam somewhere a little more suitable for comforting. They couldn't just stand there in the hallway with Sam crying on his shoulder.

Deciding he had no other option, he gently guided Sam's arms up to his neck, and then, with some difficult, reached down with one arm while keeping the other around Sam's back, and lifted the younger man up off the ground. Sam's arms immediately tightened around his neck, and he did his best to hold onto Sam in as supporting manner as he could.

"You're carrying me?" Sam whispered into his jacket, sniffling softly. Dean grinned.

"Yeah, well, you didn't seem in any hurry to started walking." He said. "Bedroom is which way?" Sam didn't answer, just buried his face in Dean's shoulder, leaving Dean with no other choice but to go from room to room until he found Sam's.

"You know, somehow you keep ending up incapacitated in some way and I end up carrying you somewhere." He muttered. After four attempts, he finally managed to find what he could only guess was Sam's bedroom (he couldn't imagine some big-city lawyer having a race car bed). "So, uh, growing up anytime soon, Sammy?"

Sam finally lifted his head from Dean's shoulder, and looked around the room. In spite of the fact that it had been furnished from someone over six feet tall, at first glance one would think someone closer to the age of five or six inhabited the room.

"Don't laugh." Was all Sam said. Dean grinned, and walked into the room. He tried to lower Sam onto the bed, but Sam refused to let go of him and so both of them end up toppling onto the (thankfully) double bed.

After untangling themselves from each other, Dean manoeuvred the two of them until Sam was lying against him, head resting on his shoulder, with Dean stroking his hair gently as he continued to cry softly.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Dean asked at one point, but all he'd gotten was a weak shake of the head beneath his hand, and he hadn't pressed.

At some point, they must have dozed off. Because there was no other way Dean could've been so shocked when he heard "What the hell is going on here?"

He gave a startled jerk and look wildly around, his eyes finally reaching the door where a man in his early fifties stood, his eyes wide, mouth half open in shock. Behind him, Dean could just make out a woman in her mid-to-late forties.

"Uh… Sam…" He said, giving the younger man a slight shake without taking his eyes off the man he guessed was Sam's father. "Sam, wake up."

"But it's dark outside; dark means sleep." Sam muttered.

"And as logical as that sounds, I'm going to have to disagree: your father's standing in the doorway."

"I don't care if my father's-" Sam's eyes snapped open, and he sat bolt upright. "Dad!" He exclaimed. Blinking more often then necessary, as though hoping he was seeing things, he stared at his father. Then he smiled hopefully (and a little sheepishly). "You're home early."

-;-

**A/N: Hehe. Yes, I know, probably a terrible place to end it. One day I'm going to actually get to where I want to be. Like the previous (two?) chapter(s), there was more planned for this one, but once again I found that I liked the idea of ending it here. Plus, as before, I figured you'd been waiting long enough. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, I will do my best to try and get the next chapter posted as quickly as possible. **


	11. When All is Said and Done, Eat Pizza

**Forever's Not Enough**

**Disclaimer**: See Prologue.

**Author's Note**: (Eyes the chapter title incredulously) All I can say is "Huh?"

**Review Answers**:

Lady Padalecki – Yay, that's good. Your answer's in this chapter. Thanks for reviewing.

darkangel36 – That's a good question… Yes, Sammy got out. And yes, Daddy Dearest's got to ruin the moment. Exciting? Yay. This chapter may be slightly… less; it's sort of a transition between plots, I suppose, and they're never as exciting as plot chapters.

**Chapter 10**: When All is Said and Done, Eat Pizza

"You're home early."

Dean vaguely heard what Sam said, but most of his focus was on Sam's father, who seemed caught somewhere between stunned confusion and boiling rage. Dean personally hoped he'd fall back into confusion.

"Get… away… from my son." He growled. Okay, so no confusion. Dean felt compelled to obey, mostly due to the fact that the guy looked ready to tear him limb-from-limb. Sam blinked, looking from his father to Dean, and then back at his father.

"What-? No, Dad-"

"You keep quiet," Mr. Adams cut across him, and Sam's mouth snapped shut before he could stop himself. "We'll talk about this later." The look on Sam's face told Dean the younger man doubted there'd be much talking involved. The next thing he knew, Mr. Adams hand was around his arm like a vice-grip and he was being hauled from the room.

"Hey, easy on the jacket!" He said, not really bothered by the fact the guy pulling him looked ready to commit murder.

Luckily for Dean, he settled for almost-literally throwing him out onto the front steps. Dean landed in a heap, glaring up at the older man.

"I thought lawyers were supposed to use there mouths to inflict harm." He whined.

"Stay away from my son." Mr. Adams growled. It wasn't in the protective, fatherly way that Dean would hear, on very rare occasions, from his own father. It was more like Dean telling his father to stay away on the even rarer occasions when John Winchester got sick (Dean was a bit of a germophobe).

"You know, that's funny," he said, getting to his feet, giving an exaggerated laugh. "'Your son'." He shook his head, his face totally serious and a little pitying now. "Jeez, you really don't know what's going on right under your nose, do you?"

"And just what is that supposed to mean?" Mr. Adams demanded. Dean opened his mouth, and then closed it.

"No, you know what, never mind," he said. He was about halfway back to the impala when he stopped, a thought occurring to him. Biting his lip, he turned back around to Sam's father.

"Mr. Adams, were you and your wife arguing last night?" he asked. Sam's father blinked, surprised by the bizarre question. He recovered quickly, the angry look returning.

"I don't see how that's any of your business," he snapped, taking a few menacing steps toward Dean, who merely nodded, not at all perturbed by the threatening look in the man's eyes.

"I thought so," he said. "It was about Sam, wasn't it? About that break-in at his girlfriend's?" Mr. Adams looked dumbstruck now. Dean gave a mirthless laugh, shaking his head and then looking up at the older man. Well, he might as well go all the way in now. "Your son thinks you hate him. Did you know that?" He asked. The stunned, sucker-punched look on Mr Adams's face was just the effect Dean had been hoping for.

"How dare you?" He growled, stunned disbelief turning to anger. "How dare you come into my house, abuse my son and-"

"Whoa, hang on, there was no abusing going on!" Dean shouted, taking offence to the accusation. "He was hurting and I comforted him. Maybe if you got off your high horse once in a while and actually spent some time with your son, you'd notice that he's been unravelling at the seams for days. He's falling apart from the inside out and he thinks his own father doesn't give a damn. I just happened to be the one he fell back on."

"And so you took advantage of him while he was hurting." Mr. Adams snarled. "Whether it was consensual or not, you took advantage of my son-"

"Oh, for crying out loud." Dean interrupted for a second time. "I didn't do _anything_ to him. If anything, he was doing it to me."

Dean took the stunned silence that followed as a step forward. "You know, my Dad took my childhood from; beat every last tiny part of me out that was anything but a man, and he was _still _a better father then you." He fixed the older man with a cold, hard stare. "If you're not careful, you're going to turn around one day and realize that you don't have a son anymore."

Dean figured he was getting through to the guy, judging by the barely contained rage evident in his eyes. Then the older man gave an aggravated growl and turned back to the house.

"I don't have to listen to this." He said, already walking away.

But Dean wasn't quite finished. "If he doesn't drink himself to death, he'll have fallen so far that by the time you actually take the time to notice, you won't recognize him anymore." He shouted after him. Whether Mr. Adams heard him or not, he didn't know. But he was pretty sure he'd hit home with what he'd said. Now all he could do was hope the guy didn't take his anger out on Sam.

Maybe he should have stayed behind, defended Sam. Maybe, in another life, he would have. But Dean had been raised believing that he looked out for himself and no one else. And, as much as he hated himself for it, that was what he still believed. So he left Sam to the mercy of his father, returning to the impala and getting in.

-;-

Sam looked up as his father knocked on the wall outside his room. With a sigh, he swung his legs off the bed, sitting up.

"So, do you want to interrogate me first or shall we skip that and get straight to the lecturing on how wrong what I did was?" He asked.

"Sam-" His father began.

"Or, do you want to skip both and get straight to the punishment?" he continued as if his father hadn't spoken. He shook his head. "God, he's right. I need to grow up." He muttered, realizing just what he was saying. He was talking like he was still a teenager, like his father still had any real control over him.

"Sam."

He looked over at his father, waiting for the harsh words that would inevitably lead to shouting and yelling and door-slamming.

They never came.

"Your mother-"

"Stepmother." Sam muttered.

"- and I are going out." This time it was his father's time to act like _he _hadn't said anything.

"Oh, big surprise." Sam said, swinging back around and lying down on his bed. He should've been happy that his father was leaving, that he was escaping an argument. But he wasn't.

His father sighed, shaking his head. "I don't know why I even bother." He muttered.

Sam was known for saying stupid things when he should've kept his mouth shut. This was one of those times. "Oh, I don't know, maybe because you're my father?" he snapped. "Maybe because that's what fathers are supposed to do. They're meant to try. But you know what? Not once in my life have you ever _tried_! You never _tried_ to introduce me to Jodie. You just went and married her. You never tried to get off work early to come see a… school play, or a football game. You just came home late and told me there were more important things in life."

He should have stopped, he knew that. But he couldn't. He'd been stopping for twenty-two years, and had all built up to the volcanic eruption that was now threatening to explode inside of him. "You never tried to be a part of me life, and you never, ever tried to be my Dad."

The two men stood there, facing each other, Sam breathing heavily as he recovered from the outburst, his father looking like Sam had just physically attacked him.

Swallowing, Sam found there was more still he needed to say. "I never asked for much." He bit out. "Just for some acknowledgement. For you to look at me with something other then disappointment in your eyes." His voice cracked, and he took a deep breath. "Mum died, and as far as you were concerned, I might as well have died in that fire with her. Do you have any idea how that feels?"

His father stared at him, and Sam really thought he'd gotten through to him. He thought he even saw the beginnings of tears in _his _eyes. But if he did, it was covered up quickly.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Sam." He said finally, and Sam's heart sank so low he was sure it had fallen out of his body. That was his lawyer voice. The voice that Sam heard every time his father spoke to him. "Now, if you're finished, Jodie and I have a dinner to attend." And with that, he turned and exited the room, leaving Sam rooted to the spot.

He wasn't sure how long he stood there. He heard the front door open and close, and then his father's car driving away, and still he didn't move. He was trying to piece together what was just happening. Two things stood out above all else:

First, his father had not yelled back, had not told him to grow up or stop behaving like a spoilt child like he did every time Sam let some of his anger loose. And second, he'd said 'Jodie' not 'Your mother' when he'd left. That was the first time for as long as Sam could remember (which was back when he was five or six) that his father had referred to her as anything but Sam's mother, at least in Sam's presence.

With a sigh, he finally decided it was time to move. Without really meaning to, he found himself walking out into the hall, to the phone. Shaking slightly, he lifted the phone off the receiver and put it to his ear, dialling in Dean's cell phone number.

It rang a couple of times before Dean answered. "Dean's Winchester's cell phone." He said cheerfully.

"Dean, hi… uh… I need you to come back here." Sam said, his voice unsteady.

"Daddy Dearest and the Evil Stepmother gone?" Dean asked, and Sam couldn't help but chuckle slightly at the nicknames he had so often used previous to meeting Dean.

"Yeah, yeah, they're… gone." He said. "And… I need you." He added. There was silence for a long minute, and Sam thought maybe Dean had dropped the phone. Then he heard his reassuring voice on the other end of the line.

"I'll be right over." Dean said, and then cut the connection.

Sam sighed with relief, leaning back against the wall, and then sliding down it when he decided he was too worn out to stand. The phone fell to the floor, and he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Tears still stung his eyes, but he refused to let anymore loose. He'd cried enough already. That was what he'd decided anyway. He wanted Dean to see a happier, less needy Sam when he arrived.

Wiping his eyes, he got back to his feet, heading in the direction of the kitchen; knowing his father and his dinners, they'd be gone all night. And he wanted tonight to be special for him and Dean. As much as his… encounter… with Jess had hurt both Jess and himself, he felt something akin to relief now that it was all out in the open. This being the first night he and Dean could officially have together, he wanted to do something.

Upon entering the kitchen and searching the fridge and cupboards, he decided that something would have to be take-out food and staying up late watching DVD's (he felt like he was back in high school). There was not a thing available to him that didn't require a professional chef to cook. And his father, having not expected anything special to come of the night, had given most of the help the night off.

So, he ordered three different pizza's over the phone (he hoped Dean liked at least one of them; Sam could eat the other two if he had to), and then went to the living room, opening one of the cupboards and gazing at the many dozens of DVDs filling the shelves. He'd actually wondered on occasion what they were all doing there; the only person to ever take them out, so far as he knew, was himself.

He was just wondering what movies Dean might be interested in when the doorbell sounded. He took a couple of seconds to curse himself for not changing his clothes (he was still wearing the white shirt and grey trousers he'd been wearing the day before when Dean had showed up), and then dashed to the front door. Opening it, he saw Dean standing out on the front steps.

"You called?" He asked. Sam put his hands on Dean's shoulders and kissed him gently on the lips. It lasted only a few seconds, but it was enough to put a spark of surprise in Dean's eyes. "Wow, we should get caught by your father more often." He said, grinning mischievously.

Sam grinned as well, then took a fistful of Dean's shirt and pulled him into the house, closing the door behind them and pushing Dean up against the wall opposite the door, catching his lips in a far more heated kiss this time, working his tongue between Dean's lips and beginning an exploration of his mouth.

Dean returned the favour by sliding his hand beneath Sam's shirt, caressing his back and side with the same heat that was in their kiss, yet at the same with a gentleness Sam hadn't expected from Dean.

They finally pulled back when the doorbell rang. Dean shot Sam a questioning look, and Sam smiled sheepishly.

"I ordered pizza." He said. Dean raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Sam paid the delivery guy, took the pizza's, and then led Dean into the living room where he opened the pizza boxes, laying out their dinner for Dean, who (thankfully) seemed pleased with all three choices. After a brief debate on what to watch, Sam stuck _Monty Python's 'Life of Brian'_ into the DVD player, and settled down on the couch with Dean and the pizza.

That occupied them for about an hour and a half. Well, no, to be truthful, it occupied them for about an hour and then Dean's hand found it's way up Sam's shirt and the movie was more or less forgotten as things heated up once more on the couch.

Now Sam was lying on the couch, shirt and singlet removed, with Dean lying on top of him, also shirtless as he made a slow but steady trail of kisses, starting at Sam's bellybutton and working his way up from there.

He also had one of his hands down Sam's trousers and was currently stroking his erected organ as though it were fragile and easily broken. Sam shivered slightly as Dean finally reached the base of his neck, planting a gentle kiss on his Adam's apple and then moving up to his lips, continuing to gently stroke him in his pants.

"Sam…" Dean whispered into Sam's mouth.

"Mmm?"

"Do you trust me?"

Sam opened his eyes, staring up into Dean's deep, lust-filled green ones. His lips tilting up in a small smile against Dean's he nodded slightly. Dean smiled as well, pulling back.

"I'm glad," he said. Then he grinned mischievously. "You know, your bed looked mighty comfy this afternoon." Sam raised an eyebrow, and gave Dean a grin of his own.

"You really think so?" He asked, the unspoken question hopefully obvious enough. Sam wasn't sure why he couldn't just come out and say it; they'd done it twice already, though neither was under particularly pleasant circumstances (the first being in the heat of the moment, ending with him sneaking away early the next morning; the second being in a filthy alley, where he practically forced himself onto Dean).

Grinning a little more suggestively now, Dean leaned down and whispered in Sam's ears. "I think you know the answer to that by now." And with those words, he was suddenly gone from Sam's chest, on his feet and backing up towards the door, that suggestive grin still on his lips. Sam sat up, watching Dean slip out of the room. After a moment, he got to his feet, following the older man from the room, feeling a little nervous. He put it down to this being a conscious decision he was making; this wasn't in the heat of the moment, and there was no alcohol involved.

Taking a deep breath, he followed Dean down the hall toward his room.

-;-

**A/N: Two things I realize. One, that this seems to be yet another abrupt ending. And two, I know this chapter is shorter then normal. The reason for that being that this is the second chapter in less then twenty-four hours, and also I've got more planned that has to be separate from this chapter (for some reason I suddenly feel a sense of foreboding as well; I hope I've made the right decision, cutting this chapter off here).**

**I'm hoping the wait for the next chapter won't be too long. I'm not promising anything (because if I do I probably won't be bale to keep it), but I'm going to do my best to make sure you won't be waiting a week for the next chapter. BTW, does anyone notice something in this chapter that could point out a certain plot twist? I started it in the previous chapter. Well, I'll leave you guys to ponder that. Until next time, cyas.**


	12. Always Confusing the Thoughts in My Head

**Forever's Not Enough**

**Thanks to FastFuriousChick for beta-ing this chapter and telling me what did and didn't make sense.**

**Disclaimer**: See Prologue.

**Author's Note**: Oxygen and how much of it a human needs to remain conscious is new territory for me (like just about everything else), so I'm sorry if there are yet more inaccuracies in this story.

**Review Answers**:

Wolf-of-Insanity - Yes, more chapters. Yes, I thought it was finally time she learned the truth. Well, no, actually, I'd planned it since I decided the shapeshifter would attack her. Yes, he is, and yes, John is a far better father (which gives you an idea of just bad this guy as at being Sam's father). Yay, good to know. Of course Dean had to stand up for Sammy, it's what Dean does.

Insomniac-Angel - What makes you say that? Hehe. That's perfectly fine. Thank you, I'm glad you think it's so good. Have you been in suspense long enough? Well, considering it's been... oh, a little less then twenty-four hours, I think you've waited long enough. Thanks for reviewing. Here it is.

Miss Meehan - Ah, thank you, yes, cliffhangers are good, so long as they don't last forever. And yes, I did my very best; that's exactly how I was trying to portray her; yes, she was angry, and yes, maybe a little unreasonable (though I find that possibility doubtful), but I think she had every right to be. Which is why I wrote it that way. And I'm glad you agree. Well, yes, I think he still does love her... he just happens to be in love with Dean, and that happens to out-weigh his feelings for Jess (poor girl). By all means, go ahead. I'm actually not sure if anyone besides he, Jess, Jess's mother and now Sam know that he is in anyway related to Jess (considering her last name's Moore and his is Thomas). Perhaps we'll never find out. Paranoia can be a good thing (and not trusting me is a very wise decision). But hey, I'm crazy, so my opinions don't weigh much in this here 'civilisation'.  
Yes, Daddy Adams. Wow, I've done even better then I thought if you think I'm capable of all that, lol (feels honoured and proud). Sam's clothes? Lol, dunno, not sure. There might have been something there when I wrote it, but it's probably ended up as just a coincidence, lol. Dean's voice, yes, finally, someone brings that up again. It is explained in this chapter. If you pay attention, that is. Thank you, hope you can say something along those lines for this chapter once you're done.

Spuffyshipper - Thank you, this soon enough? I hope so, it's not even a complete day after the last one. Yeah, he is. Yes, she did. And yes, I did (on Friday, don't ask, hehe). Yeah, I thought I was really getting a handle on how these new episodes were affecting me; and then they showed the 'Soon' segment and I was once again on the edge of my seat begging for more.

Quino27 - Your penname is familiar, but I can't place it. Oh, yay, interesting plot, that's good. Thank you, I do my best with them. You don't? Not many people seem to, which is a relief; my biggest problem with writing relationships is that I'm always worried I rush them. Actually, it interesting you should mention that. I do intend to explore the fact that both Sam and Dean lost their mother's in a fire. Already have, actually, hehe. Hmmm... shapeshifter escapes custody... an interesting possibility. And Jessica's dad, yeah, I'm not sure what I'll do with him now... chances are he's got at least one more appearance to make (probably at the worst possible time). Hey, if you do it when you like something, then do it all you want. Thanks for reviewing.

inu-kaglover45 - Yes, I know it was, hehe. And yes, lucky for you, I did post the next chapter not long after. No problem. Hehe, good, I'm glad someone mentioned that. No, she hasn't been in it yet (I've got plans to bring her into it in the sequel; here's a hint, she'll be someone lots of people will recognize from the show).  
Yes, I figured it would be. Yes, the couch, I'm glad you enjoyed it. Here's the next chapter, soon enough?

Jack - Wow, thanks. It's one thing when people compliment my work, and something else entirel ywhen they compliment me. Big thank you. Here's the update, hope you enjoy it.

FastFuriousChick - Yes, someone mentions Sammy's race car bed! That was to give the impression that Sam is yet to actually grow up. Yes, I am, I really really am. Yes, Dean has a certain way with cops. Good, he wasn't created to be liked. Quite the opposite actually. Hehe, yes, Daddy Adams does seem to have some lousy timing.  
Yes, it was supposed to be sad, I'm glad you think so. Right, you were right, rest of that review makes little-to-no sense to me.

astalder27 - Yay, always good. I think I have to agree with you; it's obvious there's something more then brotherly love. Maybe it isn't actual relationship material, but there's definitely something there that not even Jess could add up to for Sam. Glad you think so. Cute? Interesting word choice, though again, I agree, they are cute. Thanks for reviewing. This soon enough?

puplover77 - Yay, thanks. Yaha, he was. He'd never dream of doing it to his own dad, but everyone else's is fair game. Yes they are... well, it depends on what point of veiw you're looking at it from... Oh no! I've swallowed Obi-Wan. Oh, yay, that's good (not the Obi-Wan thing). Will do, this soon enough?

pandora jazz - Your answer's in this chapter. No problem, here's another one.

Supernatural GilmoreGirls - Yay. Here's the update.

**Chapter 11**: Always Confusing the Thoughts in My Head

Sam laid back against his pillow, breathing heavily as he stared up at Dean. The older man was straddling his hips, smiling lustfully down at him, staring like a predator stares at its prey. It was a little disconcerting, but Sam did his best to ignore the feeling; he wasn't about to ruin the moment by being paranoid.

"You liked that," Dean whispered, a statement more then a question. Sam gave a mute nod nonetheless; unable to quite form words to describe how much he liked what he had just experienced. "Good." Dean said, and leaned down, kissing Sam delicately on the lips. Sam returned the kiss whole-heartedly, reaching up and wrapping his arms around Dean's neck and torso. "I'm gonna take you so high you'll never want to come down." The older man whispered huskily into Sam's mouth.

Sam's eyebrows rose at the comment, but since his mind and mouth were both otherwise occupied, he could neither think of a response, nor voice one. So instead, he tightened his hold around Dean, putting a hand on the back of his head and deepening the kiss.

Dean's hand came up and gently caressed the side of Sam's neck, and he nipped playfully at Sam's lower lip with his teeth, eliciting a surprised noise from the young man. His free hand slid down and began to stroke Sam's thigh, not as gently as he was his neck. There was more heat to it, like he was trying to leave a mark (and Sam thought he might just if he kept it up).

"Dean…" Sam gasped. Dean didn't say anything, or even acknowledge that he had heard Sam. His lips moved, his tongue making a slow trail along Sam's jaw line, eventually coming to his earlobe. Sam shook slightly beneath Dean, who gave no sign that he felt it, or that he noticed the anticipation he was building up inside of Sam.

"Hey Sam," Dean whispered, tickling Sam's earlobe with the tip of his tongue.

"Mmm?" Sam managed, not quite able to form a coherent sentence.

"Didn't your father ever teach you not to trust strangers?" Dean hissed in his ear. Sam's eyes widened as his airway was abruptly cut off, Dean's gentle caress turning into a stranglehold around his throat, his free hand holding one of Sam's wrists down against the bed.

When he tried to pull Dean's hand from his throat with his other hand, the older man pinned it down with his elbow, thus more or less immobilizing his upper body (Dean was now lying flat against him).

"Dean-" He tried.

"Shhh." Dean whispered, pressing his lips down on Sam's, pushing his head down against the mattress. "Don't make this harder that it already is, Sammy."

Sam whimpered, or something close to it. What was he supposed to do? Lay there and let Dean strangle him? Well, considering the room seemed to be getting darker, his struggles were getting more sluggish, and he was beginning to feel kind of tired… maybe that was all he could do.

"That's it…" Dean's voice sounded further away then it should've been. He tried to look over, tried to see if Dean had moved away from him.

"Dean…" He tried one last time to push the older man off of him. He failed miserably, and seconds later the world went dark and he gave in to the blanket of unconsciousness that had been trying to smother him these past couple of minutes.

-;-

A strangled gasp escaped Sam as he regained consciousness. His vision swam as he opened his eyes, his head was spinning, and the first thing that came to his mind through the foggy confusion was '_I hope someone got the numbers of that truck_', before he remembered it wasn't a truck that had made him feel so bad.

He tried to reach up to see if it had been a dream; if it hadn't, he had no doubt Dean's hands would've left bruises on his neck. Such an action turned out unnecessary (not to mention impossible) as the fact that his hands were pulled behind the back of the chair he was sitting in and lashed together by a piece of thick, coarse rope was proof enough that he hadn't been dreaming.

Further attempts at movement brought him to the conclusion that there were also ropes binding his ankles, calves, waist, torso, arms and neck, each tied to hold him to a specific part of the chair.

"Dean?" He gasped out hoarsely. His throat felt raw… but then, that probably happened when someone strangled you, he reasoned. He tried to look around, but any movement of his neck caused the rope to tighten rather painfully until his head was facing directly forwards again.

Swallowing, he tried to look around with just his eyes. That didn't turn much up, except he now knew that, at some point while he was unconscious, he'd been moved from his father's house. The room he was being held in was unfamiliar, and it smelt like something had died some time ago.

"Dean?" He said again, this time more clearly and less hoarse.

Behind him, he heard a door open, and it took all his willpower not to try and turn to see who it was. He just sat there, trembling slightly in his bonds as he waited to see who it was that was holding him here, even though he was pretty sure he already knew who it was.

"So, sleeping beauty finally awakens…" Dean said, stepping into Sam's line of view. Something about his smile scared Sam the anything else he'd seen or experienced so far. "Took you long enough, having a nice dream were we?" he asked.

Sam looked away, just as far as the rope around his neck would allow. The next second, moving faster then Sam was sure should've been possible, Dean was in front of him, seizing hold of his chin and forcing Sam to look him in the eyes.

"I asked you a question, Sammy." He said. "Is it that hard to answer a simple question?" Sam glared at him, trying to get his head out of Dean's grip. "Okay then." Dean said, letting go. A second later, the back of his fist connected with Sam's jaw.

Sam groaned, clenching his teeth to keep from voicing anything more then that. He stared up at Dean, momentary stubbornness replaced by fear. And just the tiniest hint of confusion. It seemed almost impossible that this was the same man he'd spent the last couple of days with. Unfortunately, Sam couldn't see any other possibility.

"Where… are we?" he asked hesitantly after a minute. Dean's smile turned into a grin.

"Oh, not far from home." He said, dragging a chair over and placing it sothe back faced Sam. He then sat down resting his arms lightly on the top of the chair.He continued to grin. "Can you imagine how dear old Dad'll feel when he finds out you were just a couple of houses down from his own?"

Sam swallowed, not liking the way that sounded. Eyebrows raised, Dean got back to his feet.

"I certainly can, and let me tell you; it isn't pretty." He said, walking around behind Sam again.

The immobilized young man strained to look over his shoulder to see what Dean was doing behind him, but stopped with a wince when the ropes around his neck tightened almost suffocatingly and painfully around the bruises left by Dean's hand earlier. With a sigh of resignation, he turned his head back around.

"What are you gonna do to me?" He asked in a weak voice. A small chuckle came from behind him, a hint of amusement in it.

"Trust me, you don't want to know," Dean said. "Suffice it to say; when they find your body, it'll take more then your next of kin to ID it." A brief bout of panic threatened to overtake Sam at those words, but he fought it, pushing it to the back of his mind as best he could.

"He tasted you…" Dean whispered in Sam's ear suddenly, sending shivers down the younger man's spine. Moving around and kneeling down in front of him, Dean looked him right up into the eyes, and Sam swallowed, trying hard to hide the fact that he was wet-his-pants-scared (though, thankfully, his pants were still dry). Judging by the sadistic smile Dean wore, he wasn't having much luck. "I tasted you." His smile changed into a frown. "I think I want more." He leaned in even closer, so much so that his lips brushed Sam's.

His gaze flicked up, those deep green eyes catching hold of Sam's hazel ones. Swallowing again, Sam closed his eyes, felt Dean's lips brush his again. Without being able to see anything, Sam could almost convince himself that he wasn't tied to a chair. That this was the Dean he'd betrayed Jess to be with. That the man whose tender lips were now pressed lightly against his was the same man whose shoulder he'd cried on just hours earlier.

He returned the kiss, felt one of Dean's strong hands on the back of his head, the other gripping his shoulder almost painfully. The kiss got fiercer, more demanding, and Sam gave as much as he could. Maybe all he could. Dean's hold on the back of his head tightened, his fingers tangling in Sam's unruly hair.

And then it was over. Sam opened his eyes as Dean's lips suddenly weren't there anymore, though his hand continued it's tight, painful hold on Sam's hair.

"That was good." He said, staring into Sam's eyes with such intensity Sam wanted to look away. Finally, Dean released him, standing up and taking a step back from Sam, smiling in that cocky way Dean did when he'd done something he probably shouldn't have but didn't care. "Almost good enough to…" He trailed off, looking away. Then the smile returned and he looked down at Sam. Looked down at him like a predator looked down at its prey. "Never mind." He said, and with a mirthless chuckle, he walked passed Sam, who had learned his lesson by now and just sat still and waited for whatever was to come.

Sam exhaled sharply and swiftly when he felt cold steel touch against the back of his neck mere seconds later. It moved slowly, circling around until the sharp edge of the large kitchen knife was resting just beneath Sam's chin, putting on just enough pressure to cause discomfort.

"You know… I actually cared for you…" Dean said. "Of all the people I could have fallen for, it had to be you, didn't it?" Sam winced as he pressed the knife just a little harder. "And you threw it back in my face." Sam felt the older man's presence right beside his head. "That really hurt my feelings, you know."

"No, I… I came back." Sam gasped out, something about Dean's words seeming awfully familiar to him. "I a-apologized and you-"

"You think a few words can take back what you did to me?" Dean snapped, the knife lifting from Sam's throat as Dean walked around so that they could face each other, glaring daggers at Sam.

Then he seemed to calm down, and that freakin' smile was back. "Yeah, that's right… words never really meant anything to me." He knelt down, raised the knife and touching the point to the side of Sam's face, mere millimetres from the corner of his left eye. "Actions- I find- leave a much more… desirable… impression." Sam cried out as the knife pressed down, and Dean cut a thin line from where the knife had been, right down to beneath his earlobe.

Dean's hand clamped over his mouth, and Sam's cry was muffled but didn't stop for quite a few seconds, eventually turning into s somewhat strangled sob. He may have experienced a lot of things, but physical pain like someone cutting his face with a knife was not one of them.

Dean was smiling- no, he was chuckling- as he removed his hand. Sam stared at him, a small trail of blood trickling down from the cut.

"There, ya see." He said. "I could have told you how much you hurt me until I turned blue in the face, and it never would have sunk in. But this…" He touched the cut, and Sam winced. "… It made you understand, didn't it?" Sam nodded quickly, not trusting himself not to cry out again if he opened his mouth. Dean nodded, as if accepting this. He got his feet and walked behind Sam again.

A couple of seconds later, he was right behind Sam. "Open your mouth."

"What?" Sam asked.

"Well, I can't have the neighbours hearing you scream, now, can I?" Dean asked. Sam's mouth snapped shut immediately. "Open." Dean growled in his ear. Sam shook his head stubbornly. Not the smartest thing to do, but then again, Sam wasn't known for doing the smartest thing. His situation was proof of that.

With a sigh, Dean walked around, a seemingly-genuine look of pity on his face. "I was hoping we could do this like civilized adults, but it looks like I was wrong," he said. In one hand, he had the knife, Sam's blood still dripping from the point. In the other he held a length of dark cloth. "Now, you can be a good boy and do as you're told, and you can die a painful death." He leaned in menacingly, lips turned up in a dark smile. "Or, you can continue to be a stubborn ass, and you can die in agony. Your choice."

Sam stared at him for a long minute, trying to find some hint he was lying. He gave an involuntary shiver when he saw nothing but the cold, cruel truth in Dean's eyes. Reluctantly, he opened his mouth. Smiling triumphantly, Dean walked back around behind him, and a couple seconds later Dean brought the piece of cloth around and into Sam's mouth, pulling it so damn tight it cut into the corners of his lips as it was tied off behind his head.

"There, ya see, I knew you could be a good boy." Dean said, ruffling Sam's already-untidy hair. "Now…" He came back around with a short, blunter-looking knife this time. "Let's have some fun."

-;-

"I don't like this," Dean muttered, glancing around at the four other men and the single woman. "I don't like this one bit." Taking a sip of beer from his glass, he lowered his cards, turning to the first guy. "But I'm going to raise you…" he eyed the chips in front of him. "Twenty more, just for the hell of it." He dropped the chips into the middle of the table.

"Mmm…" The guy next to him nodded slowly. "Yeah, well, I'll…" He looked down at his own measly pile of chips. "Fold." He finished, dropping his cards on the table.

"Chicken." The woman sitting next to him muttered. "I'll up it another thirty." She said, dropping her own chips into the centre of the table. Four pairs of eyes then turned to the man sitting next to her. Looking at the two other people still in the game (Dean and the woman), he flipped the fifth and final card off the top of the deck.

Dean kept his face neutral, but inside he was glaring sourly at the Jack of Clubs. The straight-flush ruining little bastard.

"Well Winchester?" the Dealer asked. Dean glanced down at the five cards on the table, and the two he had in his hand. "You folding?" he seemed almost hopeful.

"Hell no." Dean said. "Fifty." He said, sliding the chips into the centre of the table. "Maggie?" He asked, turning to the petit woman.

"Sixty." She said with a smug smile, pushing her own chips out.

"Call." The Dealer said, matching the bet. The two of them turned to Dean, who was once again looking from his cards to the ones on the table.

"Call." He finally said, also matching the bet.

"Okay, boys, ready to lose all your money?" Maggie asked. She showed them her two cards… a pair of Jacks. Add that to the two already on the table…

"Damn." Dean said, tossing his Queen and Ten down.

"Just beat me." The Dealer groaned, also tossing his cards down.

"One lousy Nine," Dean stated. "You couldn't have given that to me?" he asked.

"Pay up, boys," Maggie said. "I've got an Anniversary in the morning and I need to go out and buy my dear hubby a gift before all the stores shut."

Grumbling about Jacks and lousy dealers, Dean took out his wallet and handed over the cash.

"Two hours of pool hustling down the drain," he muttered.

"Yeah, poker'll do that." Maggie said as she took money from the Dealer as well. "Well, it's been nice doing business with you guys. Same time next week?" she asked, looking at the five men sitting around the table.

"No way," one of them said. "If I lose anymore money to you my mother'll kill me." He stated, and he sounded serious.

"I may not be in town next week," Dean said. "But if I am, sure, I'll come back here and lose more money to you." He said sarcastically.

"Now, guys; no one likes a sore loser." Maggie said. "Ciao." And with that, she walked away.

With a sigh, Dean lowered his head, massaging his temples. "What time is it?" he asked.

"Dunno," said the guy to Dean's left. "I lost my watch to that British guy over by the pool table at about my third drink."

"How long ago was your third drink?" Dean asked, raising his head and looking over at the guy.

"Uh…" He thought for minute. "Hang on… I know this…" Scratching his head, he looked around for some hint to the answer. "About four drinks ago, I think," he finally said.

"Right, and each drink lasts you about an hour, give or take… I'd estimate it's a little after three in the morning." Said the guy to Dean's right. Dean nodded.

"Right then," he said, getting to his feet. "I'll be seeing you later then, guys." He announced, a little unsteadily.

"Oh, where you gotta be?" Asked the former Dealer.

"In my bed, asleep…" Dean said. "I gotta get up in the morning." He thought about how he just said 'get up' and not 'get up early' for a few seconds, and then shrugged. "I'm expecting a call from someone and I want to be well rested." He'd also forgotten, for the moment, that he didn't know where his cell phone was.

"Oh, then by all means, get gone, you crazy guy." Said the guy who had had the most to drink. He'd obviously interpreted what Dean said as having something to do with a member of the opposite sex.

Nodding at his drinking buddies in turn, Dean slowly backed away from the table. When he almost hit one of the girls serving drinks, he decided it was smarter to walk forward, and turned around so he was facing the door as he walked towards it.

Through some miracle, Dean managed to drive the Impala back to the motel without causing any permanent damage to anyone or –thing he cross paths with on the way. Sure, there was that phone booth he _might_ have scratched (it had it coming), and that guy he nearly hit when the lights turned red (who jogs this late at night, anyway?), but aside from that, nothing serious.

He stumbled into his room without turning on the lights, kicked his boots off (literally, he heard them colliding with the wall), and then collapsed onto the bed.

His incoherent thoughts were immediately drawn to the body he was sure should be lying on the bed with him. The whole thing seemed to reek of Sam. In fact, he could've sworn he could feel Sam lying beneath him, his long arms wrapping gently around Dean's neck and torso as there lips touched.

His eyes snapped open abruptly, and he sat bolt upright, pulling the knife from beneath his pillow and striking out as fast and ferociously as he could.

The knife passed through empty air, and Dean looked around, seeing… nothing. His room was devoid of human life, himself excepted. But he had been sure…

He suddenly became aware that there was sunlight pouring through the gaps between curtains. Blinking, surprised he'd slept all night (or what had been left of the night) without even realizing it, Dean lowered the knife, sliding it back under his pillow.

Sliding his legs off the bed, he got to his feet and realized suddenly that he was still wearing the same clothes he had been in the day before. This made him even more surprised he'd managed such a good night's sleep; he doubted a pair of jeans and a leather jacket were very comfortable to sleep in (having been incoherent and unconscious for most of his time in bed, he couldn't really remember).

Deciding he wanted to be at least a little presentable when he went to check on Sam, he glanced around the room in search of the duffle bag that contained his clothes. He was surprised to see it lying open near the far wall, with some of his clothes spilled out onto the floor. That was not how he'd left it.

Frowning, confused, Dean walked around the bed to the bag, kneeling down and doing a quick inventory. Sure enough, he was missing a shirt and a jacket. Sitting back, he began to wonder… it couldn't be a coincidence some of his clothes go missing the exact same day (well, he guessed it had happened yesterday) as his cell phone, also the day the shapeshifter had been brought to this motel room and thus gained knowledge of where he was currently staying.

"Shit!" He muttered, getting to his feet. If the shapeshifter had stolen his clothes and cell phone, that meant it had probably changed into him. And only one person, so far as he knew, had called his cell phone in the past twenty-four hours.

-;-

**A/N: Ha! How many of you saw that coming? At the beginning, between Sam and 'Dean', not the end with Dean's duffle bag. Probably most of you, hehe. It was one of only two options (it was either Dean or it wasn't). Well, not where I originally intended to end this chapter, but I finally got the shapeshifter into a more… intimate (evil chuckle) role. Hope the chapter turned out okay, I think I might have been half asleep for most of it. Well, that's three chapters in about forty-eight hours. I hope you have enjoyed the spree, until next time, Cyas. **


	13. You Break My Fall Then Knock Me Down

**Forever's Not Enough**

**Disclaimer**: See Prologue. Mistakes are mine. Well, I needed to claim something, since Sam and Dean _still_ aren't mine (Santa, I've been a… reasonably good boy… hint hint, nudge nudge).

**Author's Note**: To torture… or not to torture. Hmmm… Poor, poor Sammy…

**Review Answers**:

Spuffyshipper – Thanks. This soon enough? Yes, he does… hehe.

inu-kaglover45 – Good, good. Yeah, Dean, drinking and gambling when you're lover's being tortured by your duplicate? Tsk tsk tsk. Thanks for saying so; I do my best. Sometimes the juices flow, and sometimes they don't. They were flowing when I wrote those three chapters. Well, here's what happens next. Be warned: more torture ahead (I'm tempted to feel sorry for Sam, but then I remember how much I enjoy writing about torturing him).

Quino27 – That sound you might just have heard was my jaw crashing through the floor, lol. Wow, long review. Yes, a good way of thinking it. I, unfortunately, do not know my limits and so… well, those three chapters were the result. Ah, yes, I think that's where I've seen it, thanks for pointing it out (it would've kept on bugging me). Yes, that on its own is reason enough to write a crossover. But we should step away from this subject before my Muse snatches up the possibility.  
Oks, lol, too much to answer, but I'll just say thank you and I agree where necessary, because I am and I do. Onto the story portion of the review, lol. Good, I'm glad you thought that, it means I covered up reasonably well while still making it a little obvious. Yeah, poor Sammy. He seems to get the 'poor' a lot. Yes, that's probably it; waiting for Dean to show up to see the fruits of his labour, so to speak.  
647 words. Hehe, counted them myself. No, I lie; I copied it into word and used the word count. I'm a dork, lol, I had to know. Hope you enjoy this next chapter.

roxy071288 – I heartily agree; Dean needs to get his priorities straight. Sam first, poker second. Glad you think so, hope the wait wasn't too long.

Wolf-of-Insanity – Yes, I am cruel that way. Hehe, I just thought it might be better to have some Dean in the chapter, rather then focus it all on… ahem, torturing Sam. No, he doesn't, poor guy. Thinks it's really Dean. Really? I only hate them when I'm reading them, hehe. When I'm writing them they're fun. Hope you haven't been hanging too long, here's the chapter. Enjoy.

Dean's-Goddess – Yaha, that's the gist of it. He has not a clue.

Epithelial Skin – Lol, oks, I hope this update was soon enough (week days are always a terrible time to try and write for some reason). Lol, will do, here's the update. Enjoy.

pandora jazz – Yes, it has made a huge mess of their relationship. I'm hoping I can keep it realistic. Yes, I've had that little twist planned since, oh, the beginning; now Sam's in for an even bigger shock then that. Good to know; no one seems to have too much of a problem with it, which is a relief. Or if they do, they're not saying (shrugs). Yeah, he may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but he does figure things out eventually. Here's another one. You're welcome.

darkangel36 – Plots? Do tell. I might have already thought of them, but I might not have. Lol, that's good, it means my plan succeeded. Awesome? Good word, thank you. Yes, he's smart when he needs to be. Will he get to him in time, though? That's the real question. Read on to find out.

ObuletShadowStalker – I'm glad you were able to finish it. Oh, have you reviewed any of the others? Your name does appear familiar. Thank you, it wasn't the original plan (the original plan involved a spirit that loved to take joyrides in broken down cars, let's not go there, lol), but I decided that since he was going to St. Louis, I might as well make it the shapeshifter. Shocked? Shocked is good. It makes me pleased. Pouting helps also, just not as much, hehe. Well, not quite now/then, but I hope this was soon enough. Enjoy.

jackyll – Yaha, three chapters. Yeah, they tend to do that (I speak from experience – for once). Oks, hope you enjoy them, here's the next.

**Chapter 12**: You Break My Fall Then Knock Me Down

"Hey."

Sam cringed when he felt someone hitting his face lightly. He slowly raised his head, opening his eyes to see Dean standing in front of him, looking a little annoyed.

"You do not get to sleep, you understand me?" he said. "Because, you see, if you're asleep, that means I can't hurt you. And if I can't hurt, well, then, this just isn't any fun at all." Smiling a lot like he had before he went all psycho-killer on Sam, he raised one of his sharper knives. It already had blood on it, so Sam guessed he'd met it before.

He whimpered softly, shifting in his chair (or trying to, anyway), and Dean's smile got broader as he raised the knife and ran the point gently down Sam's right cheek.

"Aw, you gonna cry for me, Sam?" he asked. "Go on… it won't make this any easier, but it might make you feel better." Sam shook his head (not much; the rope around his neck and the knife against his cheek didn't allow much room for movement), staring at Dean almost pleadingly.

Dean pulled the knife back slowly, looking at Sam strangely. "Sammy, Sammy, Sammy…" He muttered, shaking his head. "How many times do we have to go through this?" Sam blinked, not sure he wanted to know what 'this' was. "I give you the option," he lifted the hand that wasn't holding the knife, and a shiver went down Sam's spine when Dean undid the top button of Sam's shirt, "and then, I give you the incentive."

Sam realized too late that he should've just done as Dean asked (even if he hadn't actually said he wanted Sam to cry; what did he think Sam was, a mind reader?). All he could do was struggle unsuccessfully against his bonds as Dean undid the first four buttons of his shirt, and then pulled it back to expose his chest.

There was begging involved in the next few seconds, but Sam doubted it would've made much sense if he _hadn't_ been gagged. Since he was, it made even less. And Dean ignored him anyway, placing the point of the knife right in the centre of his chest.

"Ready?" he asked, looking up at Sam.

Sam shook his head, saying something that might've been "Please." Dean shrugged, and then pushed just a little harder with the knife, breaking the skin and drawing out a small trickle of blood.

Sam bit down on the cloth, banging his head gently against the top of the chair as Dean cut a thin line down to where his ribcage ended, right above one of the lengths of rope holding Sam to the chair.

"Come on, Sammy." Dean muttered, looking up. "I'm not seeing tears mingling with your blood."

Sam wasn't sure if he was trying to cry or not to cry harder. Up until he met Dean, the only person who actually let him cry was Rebecca. Aside form her, any sentence with the word cry in it often went along the lines of "Girls cry, Sam. Boys don't, no matter what age they are." So after a while Sam had just stopped. He'd thought, up until that morning he'd gone to Rebecca's after sleeping with Dean, that maybe he'd just forgotten how.

It wasn't like he didn't want to cry; he was certainly in enough pain. He just… couldn't. He couldn't let himself be that vulnerable in front of the man who'd taken his trust and thrown it so entirely back in his face.

"Well, you're stronger then all the others, I'll give you that much," he said. "Not even pretty little Jess lasted this long without crying."

Sam's eyes widened at that. Jess…? Did that mean Dean was responsible for that? The question was obviously in his eyes, because Dean smiled, as if recalling a fond memory.

"That's right, it was me." He said. "I did it to her. And the girl before her. And the girl before _her_. I've done it to dozens of them… but you…" He nodded, chewing absently on his lower lip. "You're the first boy…" He turned the around the chair he'd dragged over when Sam had first woken, and sat down. "And I gotta say… I am enjoying this." As if to emphasize the point (no pun intended), he cut a thin line starting above Sam's right eyebrow and going down to the bridge of his nose.

Sam tried to stop them; he tried really, really hard. But knowing that Dean had done this exact same thing to Jess, to dozens of others like her, on top of all the pain and the still-raw sting of betrayal, was just too much for him. Tears started to trickle from the corner of his eyes. It was nothing compared to how much he'd cried at Rebecca's, or just the night before (was it really only the night before?) after his encounter with Jess, but it seem to satisfy Dean.

The older man smiled down at him almost as though he was a dog that had performed a good trick, and more tears fell, now tears of shame. His whole body shook against the ropes as Dean rested a hand against his chest, covering the bleeding cut with it.

"That's better." He whispered, and suddenly he seemed like the old Dean, leaning forward and cupping the back of Sam's head with his hand, a sympathetic look on his face. "You're going to be okay, Sammy." He said soothingly, his hand moving around to the back of Sam's head and gently pushing forward. Sam gave in, resting his head against Dean's chest and emptying himself out through his tears.

He felt Dean's lips pressing against his hair, and tried to sink into the older man's hold, almost convincing himself that the events of the previous hours were all a nightmare and that he was waking up and Dean was their to make it all okay again.

His moment of denial came to an abrupt end as Dean took a fistful of his thick hair and pulled his head back so far he could almost see the ceiling, with his neck bent over the top of the chair.

"There, now don't you feel better?" Dean asked, smiling maliciously. "I certainly do." Sam stared up at him, a mixture of pain and anger in his eyes. He brought the knife up and rested it against Sam's exposed neck, and Sam thought for a moment that Dean was going to slit his throat. He didn't beg this time, didn't make any sound at all actually. He just squeezed his eyes shut as he waited for it to happen.

But Dean moved the knife up a little, and merely cut a small line under Sam's chin, not enough to do any permanent damage but still eliciting a pained sob from the younger man as he tried to free himself from the iron grip Dean had on his hair.

"And now…" Dean said, not taking his eyes off the small cut beneath Sam's chin, "… the real fun begins."

-;-

"Sam?" Dean shouted as the door came open. Returning the paper clip to his jacket pocket, and stepped over the threshold and into the house. "Sam!" he repeated, this time a lot more urgently. He didn't hear any hasty footsteps, so he could only assume that Daddy Dearest and the Evil Stepmother were out.

Which was something of a relief, because he really didn't have time to give explanations, not when Sam could be out there somewhere in the hands of a psychotic monster wearing Dean's face.

"Sammy?" he said hopefully as he reached Sam's room. Glancing around the room, Dean tried to find some sign that he was panicking over nothing, that Sam was alive and well and… maybe just in the shower and that was why he hadn't answered Dean's frantic cries.

His bed definitely had that slept-in sort of look. Of course, in Dean's line of work, 'slept-in' could often translate into a struggle, depending on how much the person normally moved during the night. Unfortunately, Dean tried to remember just how much Sam had moved each time they'd shared a bed. The only problem was, he'd been asleep both times, not really paying attention to how Sam was sleeping.

He stood there in the doorway, looking into Sam's room, for far longer then he should have. But he couldn't quite convince himself to go in. As long as he stayed outside, there was the possibility that he wasn't going to find evidence that the shapeshifter had taken Sam. That just being near Dean, that being the one person Dean really… felt for, had not gotten- was not getting- Sam killed.

On the other hand, the longer he stood there, the more chance Sam would get killed. Dean wasn't an idiot. His cell phone was missing, his clothes were missing. The shapeshifter would've come over as soon as he knew Dean wouldn't be here. If Sam had called Dean's cell phone at any time after his father had kicked Dean out, the shapeshifter would've been the one to answer.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the room, taking out the EMF reader. He wasn't really expecting it to come up with anything, since shapeshifters very rarely actually affected electro-magnetic fields like spirits and demons did. Still, it didn't hurt to try.

As he'd expected, he didn't get anything. He sighed, switching the reader off and sitting down on the bed, feeling the beginnings of a headache starting to form. Rubbing his temples absently, he tried to think of a way to find Sam. Truth be told, he didn't have a clue. There was no pattern to the shapeshifter's moves, except up until now he'd gone after women in relationships. Now not even that held.

He groaned slightly, the headache not relenting. If anything, it felt like it was getting worse. He rubbed both his temples, more forcefully now, trying to ease the throbbing pain that he could only guess was some kind of delayed reaction to the alcohol he'd drunk the night before, though he didn't recall drinking so much that he should get a headache this bad.

Suddenly he felt like someone had driven a needle into his temple and was syphoning his thoughts and memories out through it. He groaned, lying back against the mattress, twisting and turning his body as he continued massaging his head, memories and feelings he didn't want to remember beginning to filter through his brain.

"Stop…" He ground out, shaking his head. "Stop it! Get out… of my head!" But that command went unheard by whatever was causing the feeling that everything was going to come leaking out of his mind. His breathing got heavier as the small leak seemed to increase, becoming a river of memories best left buried, but were still being forcefully ripped from his mind.

Crying out in pain, he rolled over, slipping of the bed. As soon as he hit the floor, the headache stopped, the flood of memories subsiding, much to his relief. All that remained was the phantom pain left behind by particularly excruciating pain, and for a couple of minutes, all he could do was sit there, his hand on his head as he tried to figure out what had just happened.

The conclusion he came to was that it had something to do with the shapeshifter. It was too much of a coincidence not to. Maybe that was how he had known so much about Sam when he had been in his form, how he been able to fool Sam into believing he was Dean. Maybe that was how it got so close to all it's victims, made them truly believed the one they loved had turned on them.

If that was true, then Dean had to find Sam before the shapeshifter destroyed any chance of the younger man ever trusting him again, even if Dean could convince him that it hadn't been him. And you know what was odd?

Dean knew exactly where to find them.

-;-

It had happened twice since Sam had woken up as Dean's prisoner. The first time, the look on Dean's face had reminded Sam of his father whenever work got too much and gave him a migraine. This time, it didn't seem quite as bad, though it seemed as though, for the moment anyway, he had forgotten Sam was there, just standing there with his hand pressed to his head, eyes squeezed shut.

"You know…" he said finally, lowering his hand, though he kept his eyes closed. "I've done things… things you wouldn't believe. _To _things you wouldn't believe." He smiled, and finally opened his eyes, and Sam could see the aftermath of the pain in them.

He walked forward casually, retrieving the knife from where he'd dropped it when the headache had started.

"I made my first kill when I was eleven," he smiled at Sam, as though telling him about a good movie he'd seen. "I used a knife… kind of like this one…" He explained, holding the knife up to show Sam. "Right across the throat." He cut through the air mere centimetres in front of Sam's throat, sending shivers down his spine. Dean laughed mirthlessly. "You think your dad's pretty harsh, don't you? Well, I bet yours never held you in place and forced you to watch as someone choked on their own blood."

Sam's eyes widened. That was… well, he almost couldn't believe it. But there was too much truth in Dean's eyes not to. He almost wanted to wrap his arms around the older man and comfort him. If not for the ropes binding his arms and hands, and the fact that Dean had just spent who-knew-how long finding various ways to cause Sam pain, and enjoyed every minute of it.

"So, how about we-" Dean began, but he stopped, cocking his head to one side, hearing something Sam obviously couldn't. He frowned, leaning back into his own chair. Sam waited, wondering what could possibly have gotten Dean's attention away from him.

After a moment, the older man stood up. "Don't go anywhere." He said, like Sam really could. "Looks like someone may be joining you real soon." Sam's eyebrows rose as he wondered what Dean could possibly mean by that.

The older man's footsteps faded as he left Sam alone in the room for the first time since Sam had woken up. If he hadn't felt so weak, he might've tried to get free. Okay, no, he didn't feel weak, perse, just… tired. Drained.

So instead, he let his head sag, closing his eyes and hoping for a few moments of blissful unconsciousness before Dean returned.

-;-

It actually surprised Dean; he'd driven passed the house on his way to Sam's, and not once had he suspected that Sam and the shapeshifter were both somewhere in the house.

Doing his best not to be to loud, he climbed out of the Impala, closed the door, and crept up to the front door. He inserted the paperclip into the lock, just as he had at Sam's house, and began working to unlock it as fast as he could. Finally, with a satisfactory click, the door came unlocked and Dean eased it open as quietly as he could, slipping into the house.

It was as luxurious and welcoming as the house Sam's father owned, and Dean might've almost felt comfortable there if not for the fact that he knew Sam was somewhere in the house being tortured.

He heard movement on the floor above him, and looked up, as if expecting to be able to see through the ceiling. The footsteps continued, moving away from him, and then he heard a door upstairs opening.

"Crap." He hissed, looking up and down the hall. He quickly exited the hallway into one of the rooms, just as the footsteps came to the top of the stairs. He waited, the tiniest hint of fear bubbling up inside of him as the shapeshifter came to the bottom of the stairs. He tried to remember if he'd closed the door. Had he? Or had he left it wide open as evidence to the shapeshifter of his intrusion.

To his relief, the shapeshifter did not turn in the direction of the room he was hiding in as he came to the bottom of the stairs. Instead, he went in the opposite direction, and once Dean sure he was a safe distance away, he slipped back out into the hall.

As quickly and as quietly as he could, he made his way down the hall and up the stairs to the second floor. And there he had five doors to choose from and probably not enough time to try them all. So, he skipped the first one (since his first year in high school, picking the first of anything had never ended well), and peeked into the second one. Nice, large bedroom, with one of the most comfortable-looking beds Dean had ever seen, but no Sam, so he closed the door and moved to the next one.

He skipped the third as well, going to the fourth. He eased the door open, and saw that the curtains were pulled across the window, letting almost no light into the room. The window barely held his attention for a second before his eyes fell on the chair in the centre of the room, and the tall figure tied to it.

"Sam!" He gasped. He had enough sense to close the door behind him and then he charge forward, coming to look Sam in the eyes. "Sam, Sam! You okay? Sam, wake up, come on, please, Sam, wake up." All that came out in an incoherent mess of words that Dean himself didn't understand, but it definitely got Sam's attention, startling him awake.

Dean couldn't help but feel the fear in Sam's eyes cut into him like a knife. But he didn't let it slow him down. Without hesitation, he reached up and gently eased the gag from Sam's mouth, letting it fall loosely around his neck.

"Sammy…" he whispered. "Sammy, I'm sorry. I'm so… so sorry I let this happen."

"No…" Sam gasped, his voice hoarse. "Please… no… not this. Anything…" There were tears in his eyes as he stared at Dean pleadingly. "Knives… pain… anything but… this."

"Sam, I'm here." Dean whispered. "I'm not going to let him hurt you anymore." He reached up to lay a comforting hand on Sam's shoulder, but quickly withdrew his hand when the younger man flinched.

He tried not to show how much that hurt him, because he was trying to understand where Sam was coming from. It wasn't easy though.

"Okay… okay, I'll get you out of here first." He said, swallowing. "Don't worry, Sam. I'll get you out." Sam didn't say anything, just bowed his head, not looking Dean in the eyes. Again, this hurt Dean, but again he pushed the hurt aside and quickly moved around behind Sam, working first on the ropes binding his wrists. It took a couple of minutes (that shapeshifter was nothing if not skilled at tying knots), but he finally managed to pull it loose, and soon after the rope fell to the floor, releasing Sam's now very raw and bruised wrists.

He was just about to move to the rope around Sam's neck when the door opened.

"Well, it looks like I was-" Dean looked up in the direction of his own voice, and there stood the shapeshifter, looking exactly like him, "- right." He finished, though Dean had a feeling that wasn't what he'd been going to say originally.

Sam raised his head, shocked; he hadn't thought to notice but… he was sure now that the Dean behind him, the one who was _untying him_, had been wearing different clothes then the one who had just spent the last few hours torturing him.

"Wha-?" he tried to speak. The Dean in front of him smiled, and behind him he heard the second Dean come to his feet. The tension that had suddenly filled the room was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

-;-

**A/N: And that ends another chapter. For the record, no, the shapeshifter was no actually feeling Dean or whatever when he was comforting Sam or anything like that. It was just another way to further hurt Sam; as the chapter title states: he broke his fall then knocked him down. Okay, I swear, I must've swallowed a poet or something.**


	14. Reconciliation

**Forever's Not Enough**

**Beta'd by FastFuriouschick. Thanks go to her.**

**Disclaimer**: See Prologue. Santa returned my call… he ran out of Sams and Deans some time ago. Damn.

Author's Note: Finally! I was afraid I'd never be able to post this chapter!

**Review Answers**: 150 Reviews!!! Thank you people, your reviews are appreciated.

ObuletShadowStalker – Yeah, the poet… poor guy really shouldn't have touched…  
Never mind. Glad you think so; I was having a little trouble getting it just right. Apparently, I did a good job. Your favorite? Really? Wow, thanks :). Thanks for all the comments, here's the update.

Spuffyshipper – Thanks, I'm hoping this is soon enough, lol. I know what you mean (yes, it is). I want to know as well; I just hope it's really good. Yeah, he gets that a lot, hehe.

ellynora – Thanks, I'm glad you think so. Oh, good, me too. This soon enough for you? Lol, you caught me on my second good weekend in a row. Thanks for reviewing.

inu-kaglover45 – Lol, that poet's getting almost as much sympathy is poor Sammy. Thank you, yes, that's good. By all means, go ahead, hehe. Such nice things you say about Sam and Dean… and about my chapter. Oks, glad you enjoyed.

roxy071288 – Damn, you figured out my master plan, lol. Time to abandon the master plan. Glad you enjoyed the chapter, here's the answer to your suspense.

pandora jazz – Yeah, it is… hmmm, I wonder how I'll fix it. Well, I'm sure I'll think of something (shrugs). Hmmm… another good question. Chances are, he won't trust either of them, for a while at least. Well, hopefully I do. You're welcome, here's another one.

FastFuriousChick – (Smiles innocently) Moi? Yes, he is. Yes, Dean has come to the rescue, just like he always does. Hmmm… a hard decision. I'm going for Sammy 'cause I like him more. You can feel sorry for Dean.

Wolf-of-Insanity – Yes, two Deans fun times, hehe. Yes, he'll probably be confused for a bit. Brilliance? You flatter me. I accept flattery, here's the chapter.

jackyll – Yes, another chapter. Yeah, I have to agree with you, he is kind of hot. Yeah, I liked him as well… one of the reasons he's getting such a big part in this story. Thanks, I hope this is soon enough for you.

Kagome M.K – Thanks, absolutely. Soon enough?

astalder27 - Thanks. Yeah, although he probably thinks Dean just has a twin or something; not a a shapeshifter disguesed as Dean. So do I... I hope I can figure out a way to write it.

puplover77 - Oh, yay, good to know. I'm glad I surprised you. I've been trying to update for the last... four days I think. It's finally here for you to read.

Mus4u - Oks, here's more. Enjoy. Thanks for reviewing.

Insomniac-Angel - Yes. New chapters. No, don't die (runs to find the ressurection spell used in CSPWDT). Yes, those three things definitely make up a good story. I'm glad you agree. And yes, that can be just as good. Thank you for all that, it helps to keep me feeling motivated and that helps to keep the chapters coming. More? You want more. I'll do my very best.

Maygin - Read on to find out, lol. Lol, that'd be quite funny. Yes I do... the natives get restless and begin thinking up scenarios of there own, lol. Oh, no problem; I agree, there was no other way to get him to accept it. Even if he still doesn't really know what it was he saw. Yes, Dean, you do that. You'll have to read on to find out if he does.

WeirdInAGoodWay - Thanks, and thank you for being my 150th reviewer. And thanks for reviewing.

**Chapter 13**: Reconciliation

Dean slowly rose to his feet, not taking his eyes off the shapeshifter, who was looking at him like an annoying fly that needed to be swatted. Between them, Dean could almost see the confusion that Sam was no doubt beginning to feel, what with the two Deans in the room.

"Right, so, why don't you tie him back up now and I won't kill you," the shapeshifter said, then a thoughtful look crossed his face. "No, wait… I'll still kill you." He corrected. "But… I'll do it quickly; I won't tear you limb from limb and leave you bleeding on the floor." He shrugged, as though that were a far better choice.

"I've got a better idea." Dean said. Without waiting for an answer, he pulled out a gun he'd had tucked into his belt and fired at the shapeshifter.

Sam yelped in surprise, and probably pain (having a gun go off right next to your ear couldn't really be pleasant, especially if you weren't used to it), and the shapeshifter hissed in fury, even though he was still standing.

"Silver." He growled, and Dean saw that he'd missed the heart by an inch or so. He fired a second time and the shapeshifter moved out of the way, just managing to avoid the bullet. "We'll have to finish this some other time." He said cockily. Dean fired a third time, and the shapeshifter ducked and rolled out of the way, coming back to his feet and rushing at the window.

He threw himself at the glass, shielding his face with his arms and crashing through. Dean ran forward, watching as the shapeshifter feel from the upstairs room down to the front yard, rolling as he hit the ground and coming back to his feet at a run as Dean rained silver bullets down on him.

"Damn it!" He shouted when the gun began clicking without firing anymore bullets. Turning around, he saw Sam staring at him, a mixture of fear, confusion, and possibly the tiniest hint of hope in his eyes. "Jeez, Sam, I'm sorry!" He said, moving swiftly over to the younger man and returning to untying him. "I'm sorry." He repeated, working furiously at the ropes and hoping in the back of his mind that he wasn't just doing more damage as he tried to release Sam.

He had considered using one of the knives to cut the ropes, but he'd had enough sense to realize that him picking up one of those knives and bring it near Sam was probably all that was needed to ruin any chance of the younger man ever trusting him again. So he continued to work at the knots with his bare hands. It took him a couple of minutes to realize that he was still apologizing, repeating the two words over and over again until they didn't even sound like words anymore. He stopped, and focused more on the rope around Sam's waist, finally getting it loose and removing it from the chair, dropping it to the floor with the rest of the ropes.

After about five or ten minutes, Sam was finally completely free. Dean made to help him to his feet, but Sam shrugged off his help, leaning on the chair as he pulled himself shakily to his feet.

When he looked like he was going to fall, Dean was by his side to catch him, but Sam quickly pulled away from him. "No… please." He said, his voice still hoarse. "I- I don't understand what happened… and… I don't think I really want to but…" He looked down at his feet. "I… I need time… to think…" Dean bit his lip, trying very hard to be understanding.

"H-how much time?" he knew it was selfish to ask, but he just had to know. Sam shrugged, still refusing to look Dean in the eyes.

"Don't know." He said weakly, sniffling slightly. Dean nodded slowly, and it was only now, with the danger averted, that he got a good chance to look at what had been done to Sam. At what he, in Sam's eyes, had done to Sam. There were several painful looking cuts on the younger man's exposed chest, and his face was so painted when dried blood and slightly smaller cuts that he reminded Dean of his own father after a fight with a particularly nasty daeva.

"Well…" he swallowed, willing his voice to remain steady. "At least let me drive you back to your father's house." The look Sam gave him gave the impression that even that might be too much, but Dean was not about to let the younger man, barely able to stand on his own, attempt walking back. "Look, Sam, I promise, I will leave you alone for as long as you need," even if it took all his willpower, "but please, let me drive you back. I don't want to risk you getting hurt again."

Sam stared at him for a long time, apparently weighing up his options. In the end, driving back with Dean must've seemed to least risky, and he slowly nodded. The relief was visible on Dean's face.

It was a hard walk back down to the front door, with each step taking almost more then Sam was able to give. He stumbled every so often, and Dean was right there to catch him, always letting go seconds later as soon as Sam had steadied himself again. If he'd had any strength at all beyond what was needed to walk, Dean sure Sam would be shoving him away every time he tried to help him. Dean was actually surprised Sam was still standing at all; a lot of people probably would've just collapsed on the floor by now and waited for help to arrive.

They finally made it out to the car, and Dean opened the back seat door for Sam, figuring the younger man would prefer not to be in the front with him. He could see the relief, and maybe the slightest hint of gratitude, on Sam's face as he slid into the back seat and pulled on his seat belt, and then he closed the door and walked around to the driver's side.

-;-

When the other Dean (Sam was sure he had a name, but he didn't know it) had said they weren't far from home, he hadn't been kidding. The street behind the one his father's house was on, to be exact. And although he didn't want to admit it, he was relieved Dean was driving him back; the thought of walking, even such a short distance, made him just want to lie down, go to sleep, and maybe not wake up again for a couple of days.

It took little more then a couple of minutes to reach his father's house. He sat in the back seat for another minute, gathering his strength. He looked over and saw Dean watching him. Both young men quickly shifted their gaze from the other, Dean staring straight forward and Sam looking up at the house.

"Thank you." He said, doing his best to be sincere, though in truth it was hard to say those words to the man whose identical twin had just spent hours torturing him.

He got out of the car with only a little trouble, and managed to walk all the way up the driveway without any help. He had just enough sense left to button up his shirt before opening the door, just in case his father was home. He would have a hard enough time explaining what had happened to him without his father seeing his chest as well.

Actually, he had been hoping he'd find his way to the bathroom before his father found him (at least if he could wash away all the blood his father wouldn't be as suspicious), but no such luck. Besides, he was so unsteady on his feet, chances are he would've fallen down in the shower, knocked his head on the wall and woken up in the hospital.

His father obviously heard him as he passed the living room, because he spoke. "I was wondering when you would-" he stopped mid sentence as he looked up, and caught sight of the condition his son was in. "Sam!"

At that moment, Sam felt all desire to remain upright, or conscious for that matter, leave him. All he wanted was to just pass out on the floor and never have to wake up again. His legs gave out beneath him, and he felt forwards. The last thing he expected was for his father to catch him before he'd reached the floor. He felt himself being turned over, and carried somewhere with his feet dragging behind him.

When he finally opened his eyes again, a few minutes later, he was lying on his back, on the couch. His father was standing over him, and was that really concern in his eyes? It seemed impossible to Sam, but there it was.

"What happened?" his father asked. He frowned, swallowing as he tried to think of a plausible story. "Was it that… that man I saw you with last night?" Sam shook his head.

"No." He said, and really hoped it was the truth. "It… it wasn't him." He swallowed, laying his head back against a cushion. "Not him." He repeated, more to himself then his father.

There was a moment of silence, and then his father spoke again. "Okay. You rest here, I'm going to call an ambulance."

"No!" Sam said quickly, sitting up as his father moved to leave the room. His vision swam at the sudden movement, and he blinked, feeling a little dizzy. "Dad… please." He whispered, lying back down, and his voice sounded so young and pleading, so much like the young boy begging his father to stay home rather then go out to work, and after the argument they'd had the night before, that he found himself kneeling back down beside his son.

"Alright… we'll wait." He said. "But at least let me clean these cuts. You don't want them to get infected." Sam nodded, his eyes closed. He felt his father get up to retrieve what he'd need to prevent infection, and tried to make himself more comfortable on the couch.

His father returned a few minutes later with a wet cloth and a bottle of something Sam guessed would stop the cuts from becoming infected.

"Were you cut anywhere besides your face?" he asked Sam, and reluctantly, Sam nodded, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. After a moment or two, he managed to undo enough to reveal the cuts on his chest. His father didn't make a sound, but Sam knew he was horrified by what had been done to his son. Which made Sam feel… good, despite how much pain he was in.

"What's that around your neck?" his father asked a moment later, not long after he'd begun to wash the blood from Sam's face. Frowning, Sam reached up and felt for whatever could be around his neck. His hand touched damp cloth, and he remembered Dean pulling it out of his mouth and just letting it hang there around his neck. Not untying it.

Not looking down, he began to tug on it, trying to get it off. When the knot refused to give way, he let go and reached behind his head to try and untie it. His fingers were shaking and his breathing hastened, and his attempts to get the knot undone became more frantic, and less likely to succeed.

"Sam, calm down." His father's hands on his own brought his frantic struggle with the knot to an end, and, reluctantly, he lowered his hands, letting his father untie it. "What is it?" he asked, though it was obvious he already had suspicions of what it was.

"Get rid of it." Sam said. His father raised an eyebrow. "Burn it, toss it, flush it down the toilet, I don't care, just…" He took a deep, shaky breath. "I need to…" He got to his feet, a bit unsteadily, his whole body aching. "Shower…" he finally decided. "I need to take a shower."

"Sam…"

"Please don't call anyone." Sam said, looking at the floor. "I… it's not as bad as it looks." _It feels so much worse then it looks,_ he added mentally. He looked up, looking into his father's eyes for the first real time in… well, for the first time he could remember.

After a long minute, his father sighed and nodded. "Okay…" he said, even though it wasn't obvious he thought his son needed medical attention. "But I want you to rest after your shower. You look… well, you look like hell." Sam couldn't help but give a weak laugh.

"Thanks, Dad." He said, and it was the first time he'd used those two words in a sentence without any hint of sarcasm in his voice. Then he left the room, walking down the hall to the bathroom.

He turned the shower on, closed and locked the bathroom door, and then began to strip of his clothes, at an agonizingly slow pace when to came to his shirt, trying his best not to rub the cuts on his chest, or face for that matter. It was actually something of a strange relief to be free of his clothes. He stood in front of the mirror for a second, with his back turned to it so he wouldn't have to see the trails of blood covering his front, and just stared for a moment at his naked body.

Then the moment passed, and he gave himself a small shake, before stepping into the shower.

He breathed in sharply as the scolding water hit his chest, resting both his hands against the wall as he tried to ignore the stinging and burning. With a brief sigh, he lowered his head, letting the water soak through his hair and wash over his face. The cuts on his face stung and burned just as much as the ones on his chest.

A strangled sob came from somewhere in his throat, feeling as though it was almost physically choking him. And then the tears started. First they just fell silently down his cheeks, mingling with the shower water and the blood as it washed away. After a couple of minutes, he really started to cry, the pain and terror and confusion that he was so sure he'd let out as it came during the past few hours seemed to crash down on top of him tenfold.

He sank down to his knees, the shower water now hitting him squarely in the back. He ignored the scolding heat, resting his head against the wall with his hands and knees on the tiled floor, continuing to cry quietly, what little sound he made thankfully drowned out by the sound of the water crashing down against the floor and Sam's body.

Finally, he just curled up on the floor and let the water wash over him, closing his eyes, the thought of sleeping more tempting then he wanted to admit. But falling asleep in the shower was not advisable, so he just laid there, on the edge of unconsciousness as the hot water washed away the pain, not to mention what remained of the blood on his face and chest.

-;-

Dean pulled up into the parking space not far from his motel room. He sat there in the Impala for a few minutes, not really able to make himself get out of the car. Finally, he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face as he tried to forget the fear in Sam's eyes when he'd first stepped into that room. It stuck with him more then anything he'd seen or done the past couple of days, and he wished like hell it would just leave him alone.

With another sigh, he opened the car door and climbed out. He slammed it shut, harder then was necessary, and then way he walked towards the door to his room gave the impression he wasn't even aware he'd slammed the car door. The motel room door received the same treatment.

Slipping off his leather jacket and draping it over the back of a chair, he closed his eyes, taking a couple of deep breaths. It didn't work.

With a small cry of frustration, he kicked the chair, sending it hurtling across the room, slamming into the wall with a satisfactory crash. His whole body shook with emotion begging for a way out. Clenching his fist, he slammed it down into the wood-top table. A faint hiss of pain escaped him, but he found an odd satisfaction in beating up the furniture. His fist collided with the table top again, and again. The fourth time he hit it, he came too close to the edge and the table flipped onto its side, knocking Dean backwards. He stumbled and then landed on the bed.

There were tears in his eyes, trailing down his cheeks as he laid there, memories of things he was so sure he hadn't done flooding his mind. He could see them all, each and every one, as though he was right there. As though he really had done all these things.

Jess… he'd been able to hear her scream because of how isolated her home was. It had been music to his ears.

Courtney… her boyfriend had been out of town, and he'd surpised her by 'coming home early'.

Eliza… she'd actually fought him during his initial attack; he'd killed her quickly, a small mercy for giving him some excitement.

Ramona… he'd stabbed her in so many places with so many different knives… she'd bled to death right in front of him.

Paula… Janet… Christy… Megan… There were dozens more, maybe even hundreds… Leah… Amy… Justine…

And one face… one name stood out to him above them all… Sam. The one he knew personally… he could see all the things he'd done to him. The pain he'd caused him… the knives and the blood and…

He sat bolt upright, leaping from the bed and only just making it to the bathroom in time to lose what little he'd eaten in the past twenty-four hours.

"I'm sorry…" he whispered to Sam, still looking down into the toilet bowl. "I didn't do it… it wasn't me… I'm sorry I couldn't protect you…" He stood up, walking over to the sink and rinsing his face, and then his mouth, trying to get the taste of vomit out.

Splashing his face with water a second time, he looked up into the mirror. His eyes widened with horror when he saw Sam staring back at him, the cuts on his face clean, and no where near as serious as they had looked when Dean had last seen him. He was standing exactly where Dean was, reflected in the mirror as if Dean wasn't there at all.

The look in his eyes wasn't fear, or confusion, or anything like what Dean had seen earlier that day. It was accusing, furious… hateful. Everything Dean wished never to see when Sam looked at him.

His fist slammed into Sam's face before he'd even made a conscious decision to raise his hand. He just wanted Sam to stop looking at him like that.

It was only after he'd lowered his already bruised fist that he saw, not Sam staring hatefully back at him, but his own reflection, cracked and fractured by the damage Dean had done to the mirror.

He closed his eyes, turning away and rubbing his temples. His head felt like it was splitting open, with all the memories that weren't supposed to be there ripping through his mind.

An urgent knock at the door to his room brought Dean out of the dark crevices of his mind, and he looked up from the floor. A small part of him hoped that it was Sam, that somehow the younger man had made it across the gulf that now separated them due to the shapeshifter's interference. Somehow, though, that seemed unlikely.

With a small sigh, he exited the bathroom.

-;-

**A/N: And breathe. Oks, good, another chapter done. I hope it turned out well… Dean's outburst towards the end was really difficult to write, as was his… experience afterwards. Hopefully the next chapter isn't too far away. Until next time, Cyas. **


	15. Hesitation is a Waste of Time

**Forever's Not Enough**

**Disclaimer**: See Prologue.

**Author's Note**: Having 'Down With the Sickness' by Disturbed locked on repeat (not my doing) will affect the way a chapter is written. Know that.  
And yet more technical gun stuff I've not a clue about (not even research can help when I don't have a clue what I'm reading). Since I don't know much about guns and silencers or whatever they're called, let's just let the imagination do its job on this one.  
(Twitches) Must... not... mention... chapter title...

**Review Answers**:

Spuffyshipper – Thanks, I hope this is soon enough. You'll have to read on to find out. Midnight?! That could pose a problem.

puplover77 – Thank you, I'm glad you liked it all. At the door (whistles innocently)… what makes you say that? What (else, hehe) could I possibly do to those boys? I'm glad, for both. Hope this is soon enough.

Kagome M.K – Good to know, for both of them.

Wolf-of-Insanity – Yes, new chapter, and look, there's another one. Oh, not wait, here it is. Yeah, the poor boys. More to come, hehe. Yes, all by his lonesome. Yes, I was a little worried about that, but there hasn't been any criticism (that I know of anyway) about it, so I guess Sammy making a little peace with his dad went well. Thanks, will do.

Quino27 – Yes, good idea. Blame the shapeshifter (subtly tries to hide from the blame). Hmmm, you'll have to read on to find out. Hmmm… I have no idea if Sam's okay or not, lol. I guess we'll all find out in the next chapter. Oh, don't worry, the shapeshifter won't be coming to that house anymore, least of all as his dad. Yeah, that was mildly inspirational for how Dean reacted, even though I still had tons of trouble getting it written. I'm glad you think so. Yeah, I figured that, since they were going to be in St Louis, the shapeshifter might as well be the villain (have I already mentioned this?). I'm glad he isn't near that point yet, because he's got a bit more left to do in this story before he's dealt with.

darkangel36 – Thanks, glad you think so. Yes, I had to make Papa Adams do good. Yes, it would have been; I hadn't thought about that. Wonder no more, the answer is in this chapter.

inu-kaglover45 – I do try (innocent smile). Yes, awful, but here's the continuation of that cliffhanger, right here to give you some answers.

jackyll – You're welcome. I think. Yes, bathroom, good, that was more or less one of the desired affects. Lol, you say that like it's going to be easy. Hmmm… maybe it will be (wanders off, thinking).

astalder27 – Thanks. Yes, he did; I figured if I was going to attempt to redeem his character, now was the best time. Thank you, I did my best, clearly it was (more then?) enough. (Whistles innocently) Read on to find out.

**Chapter 14**: Hesitation is a Waste of Time

Wiping his eyes as he reached the door, Dean figured someone had heard the chair crashing against the wall and had decided to come investigate. Wondering how he'd explain the noise and the broken mirror, Dean seized the doorknob and turned it, pulling the door open.

He inhaled sharply when he saw who had knocked, wishing suddenly that he hadn't answered the door.

"I've had something of a rough day," the shapeshifter said, glaring at Dean. "So excuse my bluntness when I say: you so much as breathe loud and I'm gonna put a bullet in your heart." To emphasize his point, he raised the semi-automatic handgun, fitted with a silencer, so that that barrel was level with Dean's chest. Dean was surprised no one noticed the bleeding man with a gun standing on his doorstep.

The shapeshifter truly looked like he'd been to hell and back. His stolen shirt was torn and blood soaked in at least a dozen places, no doubt the result of crashing through a glass window, not to mention the hole and yet more blood where Dean had shot him, along with a nasty looking cut above his left eye that seemed to be still bleeding.

Swallowing, Dean raised his hands in surrender, and a corner of the shapeshifter's lips turned up in a sadistic half-smile. It was a little disconcerting for Dean to see that, seeing as it was his face the shapeshifter still wore.

"Good," he said, his breathing ragged. "Now… why don't you… back up a little; you and I have some… things to discuss." He gestured with the gun, and Dean slowly backed up into the motel room, keeping his hands raised. His double kicked the door closed behind him as he stepped into the room as well, not taking his eyes or the gun off of Dean as he locked it.

He groaned slightly, closing his eyes and rubbing his temple. "God, the things Dad'll do to you when…" he frowned, biting into his lip. Dean was almost tempted to make a move for the gun. However, he was not an idiot, and although the shapeshifter appeared distracted, he knew his reflexes would still be far better then his, even injured as he was.

Opening his eyes, the shapeshifter saw Dean tense up, and a mirthless chuckle escaped him. "You should've killed me when you had the chance," he said. "That was how you were raised Dean. Your own safety above all else. So why, when you had the chance, didn't you kill me, hmmm?" Before Dean could respond, the shapeshifter hit him across the jaw with the gun.

His head snapped around, and he cried out in surprise more then pain. Groaning, he turned his head back around to face the shapeshifter, his hand moving to wipe blood from his now split lip.

"No." The shapeshifter said, seeing Dean making to move his hand. "Not unless you want to be bleeding on the floor in the next couple of seconds." Swallowing, Dean kept his hands raised. "Good," the shapeshifter said, nodding almost in approval. "Now… sit," he continued, gesturing with the gun towards the chair then had not felt the wrath of Dean.

Not taking his eyes of the shapeshifter, Dean moved slowly towards the chair, taking a seat in it and waiting to see what happened next.

The shapeshifter ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair, tightening his hold on the gun. "Good boy, Dean." He said. "Now, guess what?" he continued. Smiling madly, he withdrew something that was either in his back pocket or tucked into the back of his belt. When Dean saw what the shapeshifter had in his hand, he went with the belt. "You get to wear the handcuffs this time." The shapeshifter finished.

"Joy to me." Dean said before he could stop himself. He was rewarded with a second blow to the jaw, this time just by the shapeshifter's fist. Didn't mean it hurt any less though.

"I am really not in the mood for your smart-ass behavior, Dean." The shapeshifter said. He lowered the gun, and pulled the trigger.

Dean only just managed to stifle the cry of pain that wanted to escape. He knew the bullet had only grazed his foot, and he'd had worse then that without making a sound.

"The next one goes through your throat." The shapeshifter said warningly, leaning in so close Dean could feel his putrid breath on his face. "Have I made myself clear?"

Dean nodded, swallowing. "Yeah. Crystal… clear." He said.

"Good to know," the shapeshifter said, straightening up, with some difficulty, his injuries clearly paining him. "Now, put these on." He said, tossing the handcuffs to Dean, who raised an eyebrow.

"You, uh, want me to put these on myself?" he asked. The shapeshifter, clearly annoyed, sighed exasperatedly, and walked behind Dean, sticking the end of the silencer into the back of Dean's neck, and then reached down and clicked one of the cuffs down onto Dean's left wrist, pulling it around behind the chair.

"Other hand." He ordered, and Dean reluctantly put his right hand behind the chair as well, where the shapeshifter clicked the second cuff down on that wrist, a little tighter then Dean thought was necessary.

He tested them as the shapeshifter walked back around in front of him, and sorely regretted bringing up the subject of having to do it himself; if he'd kept his mouth shut at least he could have done them loosely. The shapeshifter had made sure he had no chance of getting loose.

"Now," the shapeshifter said, his breathing still ragged. He sat down on the end of the bed, the gun still pointed at Dean. "How about you and I have a little chat about Sam?"

-;-

"Sam, you and I need to talk."

Sam looked up as his father stepped into the room. The shower had revealed that none of the cuts had been anywhere nears as bad as they had seemed while he'd still been covered in blood.

"I'm not going to the hospital," he said, for the umpteenth time. Okay, so one of the cuts, the one that went from the corner of his eye to his ear, looked like it needed medical attention, but no matter how much his father tried to persuade him, he refused to go to the hospital to get it checked out.

"Well then… at least tell me what happened," his father dragged the chair over from the desk and sat down beside Sam's bed. Sam was facing away from him, refusing to say anything on that subject; _he_ was still trying to figure out what had happened. "Sam," he felt his father's hand on his shoulder; awkward, tense, not quite sure he was doing it right, no doubt. He did his best to relax beneath his father's hand. "Sam, I want to be able to help you."

Tears came unbidden to Sam's eyes; that was the first time that he could remember that his father had ever said those words. Actually, it was the first time that he could remember his father had actually spoken _to _him. If his voice wasn't raised, he was almost always talking down at Sam, when he was younger and even right up until this very week.

"Well… if you want to talk," his father slowly got to his feet, and Sam squeezed his eyes shut, an enormous amount of guilt welling up inside of him.

"Dad." He said, rolling over as his father reached the door. "I'm sorry." He said.

"What are you talking about, Sam?" his father asked. "What have you got to be sorry for?" Sam scoffed, but it didn't have quite the desired effect with his eyes watering up.

"I told you that you never tried to be my Dad, but it was a two-way street," he said. "I never tried to be a good son. From day one, all I ever did was mess things up for you. I never gave you a reason to _want _to be my Dad."

There was a long minute of silence that seemed to go on forever. Then his father gave a sigh, and spoke. "You're right, you never did," he said. Sam felt his heart sink. "But you shouldn't have had to." And then shoot right back up again. "I _was_ your… your Dad. It shouldn't have mattered what you did or didn't do, I should have been there for you when you needed me. I just…" he sighed, clearly unsure where to go from there. "You should… you should get some rest. I'll be back in a little while with something for you to eat."

Sam felt sure his father was chickening out, but he couldn't blame him; twenty-two years of pain and ignorance couldn't be dealt with just like that. But the fact that they were trying… well; at least there was now the possibility that it actually would be dealt with. That maybe Sam actually did have a Dad somewhere buried deep down in his father.

Rolling over onto his back, Sam closed his eyes, trying to do as his father asked and get some rest.

"It's not going to work." The certainty in his voice was evident.

Sam's eyes snapped open.

"No… no, no, no, no, no!" he said over and over again. He covered his ears with his hands. "I'm not listening. Go away!"

"It will so long as you keep your mouth shut."

He ignored the words, ignored the voice, tried to shut it out. "Leave me alone!" he growled. "I'm done. I'm not listening to you anymore!"

"You damn well will if you know what's good for you!"

Now that, Sam heard, and it was just way too much of a coincidence. Shaking slightly with fear, he reluctantly lowered his hands, wondering in the back of his mind why he continued to hear Dean's voice.

"Or… maybe… I'm threatening the wrong person."

Sam shivered; that wasn't Dean's voice. Well, it was Dean's voice, but he knew it wasn't Dean, as in his Dean. It was the other Dean, the one that-

"Leave him out of this!"

That was the Dean he'd come to have feelings for. And who had obviously started to care about him, at least enough to try and defend him.

"Dean, Dean, Dean…" Not-Dean's voice was dripping false-pity. "Whether you like it or not, he's already in this. The question is: how far?"

Sam swallowed; he did not like the way this conversation was going.

"What are you talking about?"

-;-

"He'll come, whether he knows it's me or not." The shapeshifter said. "I was in his head, Dean, I know what he thinks and feels. He cares about you, more then either of you realize, I think." He turned away from Dean, a disgusted look on his face. "Its things like that that makes you humans so weak. You're slaves to the ones you care about; whether he admits it now or not, he'd willingly walk into danger to save you." Turning back to Dean, the shapeshifter snarled. "Just like you'd walk right into hell to save him."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Dean denied feebly.

"Well, actually, I do." The shapeshifter motioned to his head with the knife he was holding. "I've got your memories, after all. I know what you thought and felt these past few days when you were around him."

He moved right up close to Dean, seizing his chin so that he was forced to look the shapeshifter in the eyes. "So why don't you admit it?" he asked. Dean tried to pull away; just being touched by the shapeshifter was making him sick; the thought of all the things he had done, no doubt. "You know if you don't tell me I'm just going to find out anyway."

Dean tried to look away, as if that could stop what the shapeshifter was going to do next.

Breathing raggedly still, a look of preparation in his eyes, the shapeshifter released Dean's chin and took a step back. Then his eyes closed and a strained expression came to his face, a hand coming up to massage his temple.

He smiled, almost smugly, as the strain of whatever he was doing seemed to ease, and looked over at Dean.

"Well… that's a turn of events I didn't see coming." He said. "You have fun with my memories, did you?" he limped over to Dean, smug despite his grievous injuries. "Seeing all those women? Seeing Sammy, the things I did to him?" his expression turned cold. "Oh, I'm sorry," he backhanded Dean, eliciting a groan of pain from the hunter. "The things _you_ did to him." He corrected, once again smug.

Dean glared the shapeshifter. "You did it." He said defiantly. "Not me. You… you hurt him." Why was he having such a hard time believing himself? He knew it was true. Didn't he? Those memories… the ones especially of Sam… they were so… so vivid.

"It's hard, isn't it?" the shapeshifter said. "To separate what's real, from what isn't." He closed his eyes, taking long, ragged breaths. "You're so sure that what you're thinking isn't you, but he's there… he's swallowing you whole and you know it'd just be so much easier if you could just give in." He opened his eyes, staring at Dean with something close to madness visible. "It's all in there, Dean. You can feel it clawing its way to the surface."

"No." Dean shook his head. "It… it's you. You're… you're messing with me." He was trying to convince himself more then anything else.

"Are you sure?" that voice sounded so much like Dean that Dean felt as though he was going crazy. "You don't look it."

Dean looked away, refusing to meet the shapeshifter's gaze. His own gaze; the shapeshifter was staring at him with his own eyes.

"Maybe you need some convincing." The shapeshifter finally said. Dean swallowed, not liking the way that sounded.

"What do you mean?" he asked, not quite able to keep the hint of fear from his voice.

The shapeshifter got to his feet, and walked slowly up to Dean, resting both his hands on the arms of the chair and leaning in so close their noses were only an inch or so apart, staring into Dean's eyes.

"He's going to come here," Dean said. "One way or another, I'll get him here. And when I do, you're going to hurt him, Dean." Dean blinked. That was just crazy; even as confused as he was feeling, Dean would never willingly hurt Sam. There was nothing that could make him hurt Sam.

"Because if you don't, I will."

Except maybe that. He stared at the shapeshifter; what kind of choice was that? It wasn't. He couldn't choose between hurting Sam and sitting back (even if it wasn't his choice) and letting someone else hurt Sam.

"And I won't just hurt him, Dean," the shapeshifter continued, not taking his eyes of Dean's. "I'll destroy him. I will rip into him so utterly and totally that there won't be anything left. And I'll make sure you're both alive and conscious for the entire thing. You thought he was in a bad state the last time you saw him? Huh?" Dean swallowed, and slowly nodded, thinking that was what the shapeshifter wanted him to do. He was rewarded with another backhand across the jaw. "That was nothing." The shapeshifter hissed.

And then he stepped back, far more quickly then any human could have with the same injuries the shapeshifter had sustained. Dean had doubts any human would still be so coherent with injuries of that degree.

"Are we clear?" he asked, staring down at Dean.

With a resigned sigh, Dean bowed his head, nodding slowly, heavily. There was no response, and after a couple of minutes, he hesitantly looked up again, and saw the shapeshifter leaning against upturned table. Realizing Dean had noticed, the shapeshifter immediately stood up straight.

Without saying anything, the shapeshifter walked past Dean, towards the other side of the room. Dean tried to look over his shoulder to see what the shapeshifter was doing, and could just see him out of the corner of his eye. The shapeshifter was bent down over something; after a moment, Dean realized it was the duffle bag he kept all his clothes in.

He swallowed, wondering what the shapeshifter could possibly be up to. It'd take more then a change of clothes to make Sam believe that he was Dean, and not the double that had tortured him the night before, if that was what he was planning. If that was the case, Dean wondered if the shapeshifter had landed on his head when he leapt out the window, because an idiot could see that plan wouldn't work.

Finally, the shapeshifter stood up again, Dean's clothes now strewn about in a small gathering at his feet. He leaned unsteadily against the wall for a couple of seconds, before turning around to Dean and walking over to him, a pair of plain black socks in hand. Dean watched the shapeshifter nervously, not liking where this was going.

"Sorry, Dean, but I don't trust you not to try and warn Sam when I call him." The shapeshifter said, tying the two socks together at one end. Dean shifted uncomfortably as the shapeshifter stepped closer. After a brief moment of uncooperativeness on Dean's part, the shapeshifter forced the knot into the young hunter's mouth and tied the two socks off behind his head.

Dean glared at the shapeshifter as he stepped back around and sat down on the bed. The shapeshifter cracked a cold smile.

"You hate me, I can see it," he said. "Good, it's the first step. You start hating the ones that have hurt you. Or, in your case, the one that's hurt the one you…" He stopped, and stared at Dean for a couple of seconds. "Care about." He finally finished. "You hate them so completely, that soon it seems justified that you should hurt them back. And you do. You make them feel every moment of suffering they've brought on you or your loved ones. And you enjoy it."

Dean shook his head, grunting something that was supposed to be a denial.

"And you find you want more, the thrill you get when you take life," he smiled almost mournfully now. "You use it to fill up the hole that's been growing in you since the day you were born. Because you know you're different. No one understands you… no one can help you. You're on your own, and all you've got left is the killing."

Dean shivered; he got the distinct impression that the shapeshifter had stopped talking about _him_.

After a few moments of silence, Dean became aware of how much his jaw was aching; his mouth really hadn't been made to hold something as large as the knot that had been shoved into it.

The shapeshifter seemed the notice his discomfort. And ignored it, getting to his feet and walking towards the back of the room, taking out the cell phone he'd stolen from Dean the day before.

Dean looked over his shoulder again, trying to keep the shapeshifter in sight. As before, he could just see the shapeshifter out of the corner of his eye. His ears, however, could make out what the shapeshifter said whether he could see him or not.

"Sammy?" he said in a perfect imitation of Dean's voice. He swallowed. "No, don't hang up, please. I… I need your help Sam, I-" The shapeshifter stopped abruptly, and the silence stretched out. Finally, the shapeshifter spoke again, and this time his voice was cold and harsh. "You're nowhere near as smart as you think you are, Sammy." He said. "You know what I can do. Are you really going to leave Dean here, in my hands?"

More silence. Dean prayed furiously to a higher power he didn't believe in that Sam was stronger then he was; that Sam was smarter then he was.

-;-

**A/N: Don't kill me! It's not my fault the way this chapter turned out. Between that damn song being locked on repeat for the first half of the chapter (again, I say I didn't do it), and seeing Jensen Ackles/Jason Teague in the Smallville episode Commencement (does it make me totally twisted that I thought he looked awesome covered in mud and injuries?), I couldn't think of any other way to do this chapter.  
I hope my strange 'insight' into the shapeshifter was believable. I vaguely recalled something he said to Rebecca in Skin, and I wanted to do something a little like that.  
No telling when the next chapter will be; no later then next weekend, though I'm hoping to start and finish it before this weekend is over. No promises though. Hope you enjoyed the chapter, until next time, Cyas. **


	16. Down to the Earth I Fell

**Forever's Not Enough**

**Disclaimer**: See Prologue.

**Author's Note**: I can't help myself. Chapter title comes from the song 'Tonight and the Rest of My Life' by Nina Gordon. Hope it fits the chapter.

**Thanks to**: FastFuriousChick, for beta-ing and for putting up with all my complaining because I couldn't get the chapter flowing. I'm sure it would've taken heaps longer without you.

**Review Answers**:

the crazy ladies – Lol, oh but it is so much fun. Although it'll come to an end soon. Read on to find out when. Thanks for reviewing.

ObuletShadowStalker – Of course, I can't blame myself after all. I know the feeling; insanity is something I am quite familiar with (I misplaced my sanity some time ago). Ah, yes, I thought Dean deserved some proper attention from the shapeshifter. I like to try and spread things out fairly, just the kind of person I am. Help? Me, actually give them help? Hehe, what do you think? Yes, I'm glad so many people agree. Yeah, it's actually the same shapeshifter (you probably know that, but I just thought I'd mention it anyway). Here it is, soon enough I hope. You listened to it? Lol, I don't know why I do; normally a song like that sends me running for cover.

Spuffyshipper – Thanks, this soon enough? Truth? Lol, I've done quite a few revelations, which truth was that? Still? Lol, poor fellow. I suppose some will always hate him. Oh well.

ellynora – Thanks. Yes, that's why he's hearing them. I mentioned possible reasons in an earlier chapter (Dean thought of them I think), but I don't know how many people took notice of it. I'll hopefully have a more noticeable explanation in a later chapter. Lol, I hope this is soon enough. I agree, suspense can be a dreadful, dreadful thing.

Kagome M.K – Thanks, good to know. Soon enough?

inu-kaglover45 – Good to know. Even better to know, hehe. I am in total agreement. Oh, yay (is excited), someone's gonna need therapy after reading my story (yes, I am strange :)). Here it is, enjoy.

Moon-Memory – Yes, they both do, though Dean's (up until the mirror incident anyway) is a lot more subtle then Sam's. Thanks, it's always nice to know my descriptiveness is still going well. I will, here's the result.

Wolf-of-Insanity – Yes, new chapter. He is? Lol. Don't worry, I will hopefully give an explanation to his abilities in a later chapter. Yes, he has. I figured, Sam's gotten enough attention from evil to last a lifetime, time to give it to Dean, hehe. Yeah, hopefully. Yeah, so I've discovered, lol.

astalder27 – Good to know. Thanks, here's more.

darkangel36 – Yay, good to know. Yes… whoops, there was supposed to be mention of how clean it was or wasn't, I forgot to put it in. Oh well, I'll use it somewhere else. Thanks for saying so; I decided about halfway through writing how awful Sam's dad was that I was going to do something to try and redeem him. Good question, answer's in this chapter. Read on to find out.

puplover77 - Lol, I guess you'll just have to read on to find out his fate (Sam's, Dean's, the shapeshifter's, take your pick, lol). No problem, reasonable complaints are allowed. Thanks, good to know. Lol, well, you can only have it one way. I've chosen what that way is. Will do, have done, I hope it's soon enough.

jackyll – Yes, a lot actually, lol. Thanks, good to know. Thank you. No, it isn't, poor guys. Even when Sam isn't a Winchester life isn't simple. Yeah, I was considering it, but I decided I wanted this story entirely about Sam and Dean. This soon enough?

FastFuriousChick – Lol, yes he did. Oh, haven't seen that episode yet (makes mental note to find it). Lol, yes, I do, and you already know the answers.

Miss Meehan – You did? There's actually (possibly) going to be an explanation to how that happened later on in the story. Yes, I figured Dean would be able to understand something like. I think it does, lol. Yes, I think he does. I think, don't quote me on it, lol.  
Yeah, well, that's actually connected more to Dean then the shapeshifter, the Dean in this story, so it may not have worked in the show. Again, hopefully there'll be an explanation later on.  
Yes, it's so thick I almost want to take out my knife and try to cut it. No, as I just said, it's only Dean who is affected by this. Lol, again, hopefully explanations later. Hmmm… hopefully. Read on to find out.

LenJade – Thanks. Yeah, it just seemed like the kind of thing Dean would think. Yeah, lol. Seamless might not be the right word, lol. Read on to find out what I mean. Thanks for reviewing.

pulpfish – Since I started? Wow, thanks. Good compliment, thanks again. Yes, for some reason I like villains who started life as victims, and if you read into the shapeshifter enough (specifically something he says to Rebecca in the episode), it seems as though he did start off as a victim. As I hopefully pointed out with what he said to Dean in this story. No, not wrong at all. I myself enjoy writing it so very much (it's become something of a twisted hobby). Thank you, description has always been my biggest worry, but clearly it's not a problem. Thanks for reviewing.

**Chapter 15**: Down to the Earth I Fell

"You know if you don't tell me I'm just going to find out anyway."

Sam waited. His breathing had slowed down, almost to the point that his chest didn't seem to be moving. Minutes passed and no more came.

"Dean?" he whispered, like Dean was really there and he would hear Sam. Of course, there was no response. It was crazy to expect there to be one. So Sam laid there, wishing he could just pull the blankets up over his head and let the world forget he was there. Only he knew he couldn't.

Hearing the conversation between Dean and Not-Dean had opened wounds that had barely closed for Sam, wounds that were still raw and painful. What made it even worse was that they'd been talking about him. And Not-Dean had asked Dean how he felt about Sam, hadn't he? Sam tried to remember what Dean had said, but couldn't; that was probably where it had ended.

Sam was actually still wondering _how_ it had _begun_. There was no reason, no trigger like you saw so often on TV. And as far as he knew, no one in his family had ever heard things that weren't being spoken in their vicinity, maybe not even in their time.

Dean's words came back to him. Well, Not-Dean's words actually, he realized. At the liquor store, that was the first time he'd heard an actual voice. And then he'd heard them spoken once more the night before. Even after that, he was still having some trouble convincing himself he wasn't crazy. Then again, maybe he just wasn't trying. Being crazy, like being forgotten, was so much easier then… everything.

He wasn't sure how long he laid there, but after a while, the phone rang. No one answered, and after a couple of seconds he sighed, reaching over and fumbling for the cordless phone resting on his bedside table, hitting the answer button as he brought it to his ear.

"Hello?" he said, too worn out to bother with formalities.

"_Sammy?_"

Sam sat bolt upright, feeling suddenly as though he'd swallowed his tongue. That one word had sent his entire body into a painful recollection of the abuse it had suffered at the hands of the man on the other end of the phone.

It took him a couple of seconds to calm down; he didn't know for sure that this wasn't Dean. The first time he'd heard Dean's voice, he'd been hearing a future conversation. So… that meant what he'd heard a little while ago could've been in the future as well, right?

"Dean, I… I need more time." He said. "Please don't call again." He hoped to god that he wasn't about to condemn Dean with those words.

"_No, don't hang up, please. I… I need your help Sam, I-_"

"Dean." Sam said. He had to know. He thought he could leave it alone, but he couldn't. Not if there was the possibility that Dean was in danger. Not even to save his own worthless skin. "I told you when you called me on the phone this morning; I'm not ready." He swallowed. "I… I thought you said you were going to leave town."

There was silence for a few seconds after he spoke. He thought maybe Dean thought he'd gone crazier then he already was, and started remembering things that hadn't happened as well as hearing things that weren't there.

And then, "_You're nowhere near as smart as you think you are, Sammy._"

His breath caught in his throat. So it wasn't Dean. So what did that mean to him?

"Where is he?" the words came out before he even knew he wanted to know. "Is he okay?"

"_You know what I can do._" Not-Dean said menacingly.

"S-so what?" Sam asked, wishing his voice hadn't faltered right then.

"_Are you really going to leave Dean here, in my hands?_"

Sam shivered; it didn't matter that Dean looked exactly like the man who had spent hours cutting into Sam's face and body, Sam wouldn't wish that kind of torture on anyone.

"_You still there, Sammy?_" Not-Dean asked.

"Y-yeah." Sam whispered, almost too quiet to hear. "I'm still here."

"_Well, I want you_ here"

Sam swallowed. "Is Dean okay?" he asked a second time.

"_Right now, yes,_" came the response. "_Of course, I'll tell you now that I'm not the most patient of people, so if you want him to stay that way I wouldn't recommend keeping me waiting._"

"I…" Sam's voice cracked, and he sniffled.

"_Yes?_" He already knew he'd won, knew Sam was going to do exactly what he wanted.

"I'll be there." Sam managed.

"_I'll be waiting,_" Not-Dean said. "_But not for long._" And then the line went dead.

Sam just sat on his bed, while minutes he knew were precious to Dean ticked by, the phone held so tightly in his hand he was surprised it had not broken. What was wrong with him? How could he willingly go to someone he knew from recent experience just wanted to hurt him?

Quite easily, actually. He was going to get off his sorry ass, sneak past his father, and go and help Dean. Why? Well, that was a question not as easily answered as 'how'. He didn't know why. He just knew he had to.

Sliding his legs slowly off the bed, Sam pushed himself to his feet. He made it as far as his bedroom door before the first hints of doubt began to claw its way into his mind. He pushed it to the back of his mind, and kept on going.

He had just enough sense left to write a note for his father. He left it on the kitchen counter, hoping it would be noticed, before proceeding to the garage; he'd wasted enough time trying to get up the courage to do this at all. He would waste no more _walking_ to the motel.

Through some miracle, the sound of the garage door opening, Sam pushing his motorbike out, and then the garage door closing did not alert his father to his departure. Leaning on the bike for support (he hadn't stopped to think how much blood he'd lost and how weakened by it he had become), he pushed it a couple of house down before pulling on the helmet, climbing on and kick starting it. The bike roared down the street, and turned a corner, disappearing from the view of Sam's father's house.

Sam was sure he almost lost control of the bike at least twice, but he tried to ignore those lapses in concentration, focusing only on one thing: getting to the motel and…

Well, he'd jump off that bridge when he came to it. And Dean would probably follow him.

Before he knew it, he had reached the motel. Pulling into the parking lot, Sam cut the motor, and climbed off the bike, removing his helmet and setting it down on the seat.

Letting out a long, shaky breath, he walked slowly up to the door of Dean's motel room. Shaking from head to toe, Sam raised his hand and knocked loudly on the door.

"It's unlocked." Came Dean's voice from inside the room. Sam swallowed, knowing this was his last chance. He could turn around, leave Dean to whatever cruel fate Not-Dean had in store for him. Sam hated the part of him that even considered that possibility, and seized the doorknob with a new determination, turning it and forcing himself forward before he had a chance to think about turning back again.

The sight that met him was Dean, gagged with his hands no doubt bound behind his back, and Not-Dean sitting on the bed with a gun level at Sam's chest.

"Close the door," Not-Dean said. Sam swallowed, and quickly closed the door behind him, careful to keep the gun in sight at all times. "Good, now why don't you take a seat over by the wall?"

Sam nodded, walking over and sitting down against the wall Not-Dean had gestured at with the gun. It meant he was facing Dean directly, and he could see the disappointment in the older man's eyes. Dean had obviously been hoping Sam wouldn't come, his own life be damned. Sam, of course, had done the first honorable thing in his life and come _because_ Dean's life had been threatened.

"Wh-who are you?" Sam asked tentatively. He didn't want to aggravate the nice man with the gun, especially since he looked like it wouldn't take much, but he couldn't help but ask; that whole habit of doing stupid things coming back to bite him in the butt again.

Not-Dean stared at him for a long moment, and then glanced at Dean.

"What do you say, Dean? Should I tell him the truth?" he asked Dean; it might have almost seemed sincere if not for the obvious fact that Dean wouldn't be able to give an understood response and he knew it. Dean did manage a grunt or two, but Sam didn't have a clue what that could mean.

"Yeah, I agree, he deserves to know," Not-Dean said. "He deserves to know what he was getting into when he decided to go to bed with Dean Winchester." Dean struggled against whatever bound his hands now, making a noise that was definitely an attempt at the word 'No'; whatever the truth was, it was clearly something Dean wanted kept secret. Sam had to admit though, he was curious, and that was why he didn't object when Not-Dean began to explain.

"You see, Dean here doesn't have what you'd call a 'conventional job'," he explained, nodding in Dean's direction. "He goes from town to town, city to city, he deals with all the badass supernatural monsters that are hanging around, and then he clears out before the questions start rolling in."

Sam stared. He looked from the man, injured and filthy, sitting on the bed, to the man seated in the chair in front of him, with a split lip but a damn-sight cleaner then the other one.

"You're crazy," he said, looking at Dean for some hint that it was a lie. Just another crazy lie in the craziness his life had descended into these past couple of days. "You're crazy." He repeated half-heartedly.

"No… well, yes, probably a little," Not-Dean said. "But I'm also telling the truth. Look at him. There's no denial." He gestured to Dean with the gun. "To answer your original question, I'm… a shapeshifter, I suppose Dean would call me." He looked over at Dean, as if for confirmation, before continuing. "A skin-thief, to be more exact. You see, what I do is find someone who I want to be, say…" Again, he turned his gaze on the man bound to the chair beside him. "… Dean, for example. All I have to do is watch him, scan his image into my brain. Then I would…" he grinned wickedly, "… remove the skin I'm already in, and grow the new one."

Sam just stared, at Dean, at… the shapeshifter. It made sense now, actually, pieces of a puzzle he hadn't realized he'd been trying to solve now falling into place. 'Jessica' visiting him and borrowing clothes. Then, mere hours later, Jessica was supposedly attacked by Sam himself. She even saw him. And then there was the matter of his being cleared of the charges without so much as an explanation. It seemed impossible, but it was all right there in front of him.

"I don't think he can handle it," the shapeshifter taunted. "Hey, Sammy, you gonna be okay?" the mock concern just added insult to injury for Sam.

Sam looked up, stared the shapeshifter in the eyes, Dean's eyes. "I'm… fine." Yeah, right.

"Well, good." The shapeshifter said. He stood up straight, staring coldly down at Sam. "Because I didn't invite you to this little get-together to sit around on your ass feeling sorry for yourself because your boyfriend isn't who you thought he was."

Sam was stunned to realize how true those words were; that was exactly what he was doing.

"No, I invited you here to prove a point to Dean," he gestured to Dean with the gun again. He then withdrew something from the pocket of his jeans and tossed it to Sam, who made a grab for it but missed. It landed on the floor, and Sam saw that it was a small key.

He looked questioningly (and a little fearfully) up at the shapeshifter, not sure what he was supposed to be doing. The shapeshifter gave an exaggerated sigh.

"Unlock the handcuffs." He said, gesturing at Dean again.

Sam nodded quickly, and then slowly got to his feet, walking around the other side of the Dean so as to put as much distance between himself and the shapeshifter as possible. Before unlocking the handcuffs though, he untied the socks used to gag Dean, gently easing the large knot out of his mouth.

Dean worked his jaw for a couple of seconds, loosening up the tight muscles, and then turn to look at Sam over his shoulder.

"Why'd you come?" he asked, almost despairingly. It was obvious he had been hoping Sam wouldn't; why, Sam didn't know. Probably something to do with the psycho-killer wearing his face.

"Ask me again when this is over." He whispered as he slid the key into the lock on the handcuffs, and freed Dean's wrists from them. He stepped back as Dean brought his hands around and rubbed his wrists, looking almost as scared as Sam felt.

Slowly, he stood up out of the chair, still rubbing his wrists, and looked over at the shapeshifter.

"Okay, now Sam, you sit down, and Dean is going to handcuff you." The shapeshifter order. Sam looked at Dean questioningly, and Dean gave a miserable nod, not looking Sam in the eyes. Swallowing, Sam sat down in the chair, putting his hands behind the back of it.

Dean snapped the handcuffs onto Sam's wrists. To Sam's surprise, he found that, with enough effort, he could probably get his hands free of the cuffs. He looked at Dean questioningly, but Dean still refused to meet his gaze.

"Undo his shirt." The shapeshifter ordered now. Dean didn't say anything, and he kept his eyes focused on his hands as he knelt down in front of Sam and undid the buttons of Sam's shirt. Sam stiffen involuntarily when Dean's hands brushed his skin as he eased Sam's shirt back so that it was more or less just hanging off his arms. At least now he knew, or was pretty sure he knew, why Dean hadn't wanted him to come.

"Dean…" he choked out.

"You keep quiet." The shapeshifter ordered. "Or, if you want, Dean can show you what a sock tastes like." Sam's mouth snapped shut. "I didn't think so." He tossed a knife through the air and Dean caught it by the hilt. Sam's whole body started to shake when he saw the knife. All of a sudden he felt like he was back in that house with the shapeshifter.

A strangled sob escaped him, and finally Dean looked up into his eyes, his own filled with remorse and apologies. Sam shook his head at Dean, as if begging him not to use the knife in his hands.

"You sure you don't want that sock?" Dean asked, a slightest hint of humour in his voice. Even faced with one of the hardest and worst things he'd ever had to do, it seemed like Dean still had to try and make light of the moment, even if it was a very poor attempt at doing so.

After a couple of seconds, he opened his mouth, deciding that, if he was going to have his chest cut on again, he wanted to be able to scream without getting a bullet in the head.

Dean retrieved the knotted socks from the floor and held it up to Sam's mouth. Not quite believing what he was doing, Sam opened his mouth and bit down around the knot. Strangely enough, the first thing he thought once Dean was sure it was secure in his mouth was how glad he was the socks were at least clean.

No sooner had he done so then Dean touched the knife blade to one of the cuts on Sam's chest. Sam's body shook at the contact with the knife, but he did his best not to let it go any further then that. He did pretty well, until the razor-edged blade broke the skin. Then he bit down on the socks so hard he was surprised his teeth didn't cut right through them, and a muffled cry of pain escaped him, one he tried (and failed) to suppress.

He opened his eyes and looked at Dean, but the older man was once again refusing to meet his gaze, though Sam thought maybe he could see tears beginning to trail down Dean's cheeks. That first cut had probably hurt him almost as much as it had hurt Sam, just in a different way.

Then, without warning, a shrill beeping sounded from somewhere in the room. It took Sam a moment to realize it was coming from his pocket. Dean and the shapeshifter realized that at about the same time. The shapeshifter turned his attention to Sam, surprised by the sudden noise.

Dean saw the opening, and he took it. With the shapeshifter distracted, Dean had a few precious seconds to do something that would get him and Sam out of there in one piece. Before he'd even realized what he'd done, he'd thrown the knife in his hand as hard and as fast as he could at the shapeshifter.

A grunt of pain escaped the shapeshifter as the knife embedded itself in his shoulder. Dean didn't wait for him to recover or think to use the gun. He leapt from where he was and crashed into the shapeshifter, trying to wrestle the gun from his hands.

Sam blocked the two of them out of his mind, spitting the sock out of his mouth as he began working at freeing his hands from the handcuffs. He winced as the cuffs cut into his hands, but the next second, he was free. Well, one hand was free anyway, and he quickly snatched up the key from where Dean had dropped it on the floor, unlocking the second cuff.

"Sam!"

Sam looked over and saw Dean wrestling with the shapeshifter, the gun and knife both forgotten a few feet away from them.

"Sam, there's a gun in my bag, new the bottom. Get it!" Dean all-but shouted at him.

"Right." Sam said, scanning the room for Dean's bag. He found it lying near one of the walls with most of its contents strewn around it. He dove for the gun he saw lying on the floor near it, snatched it up, and spun around just as the shapeshifter finished with Dean and turned to him. Before he could so much as think of aiming the gun, the shapeshifter charged forward and kicked it out of his hand.

"Not exactly how I had wanted this to end, but hey, it was bound to happen anyway." The shapeshifter said. Sam didn't give him a chance to attack. He punched the shapeshifter as hard as he could in the face. As his head snapped to the side, Sam brought his arm back around and backhanded the shapeshifter across the other side of the face, causing him to stumble as his body wasn't sure which direction it was supposed to be going. Not giving the shapeshifter time to recover his balance, Sam kicked out with one leg, sweeping the shapeshifter's legs out from under him.

Before Sam even had time to think, he'd descended down on top of the shapeshifter, driven mostly by fury and adrenaline, and started punching at his face viciously. Superhuman strength or no, beneath Sam's continuous assault, not even the shapeshifter could manage to fight back.

Sam's breathing was heavy, his arms were heavy and sore, and his vision was blurred from the tears falling from his eyes, but he kept punching, letting all the fear and pain loose with each devastating hit.

"Sam."

He stopped suddenly, hand raised to deliver another blow, and saw the results of his assault; blood dribbled from one of the shapeshifter's nostrils, and from two splits in his lips, and there was at least half a dozen bruises already beginning to form on his face.

"Sammy." Dean's voice reached him again, and all he could do was stare the shapeshifter, willing his hand to throw another punch at his face.

The shapeshifter, however, was having no such problems. He took maybe half a minute to recover from attack, and then his fist shot up and connected with Sam's chin, throwing the young man backwards off of him. Sam grunted as his head collided with the bed, and then hit the floor, his face contorted in pain.

The shapeshifter flipped back up onto his feet, and groaned slightly, wiping a hand over his face.

"Man, Sammy, who knew you could be so… vicious?" he muttered, rubbing his jaw. He turned a look in Dean's direction. The young hunter was on his feet, fists raised and… well, not exactly ready for another fight, but prepared for one if need be.

The shapeshifter, of course, didn't exactly look ready to fight either. Bleeding, bruised and filthy, he looked like he should be ready to pass out. But he stood there, facing Dean with his own fists raised, almost taunting Dean.

Well, Dean took the bait, swinging his fist at the shapeshifter's face. The shapeshifter blocked the punch, almost too easily, with his arm, and Dean brought his leg up with a kick aimed at his mid-section, which he also blocked with his arm. He then threw a punch at Dean's face.

Dean caught the arm with his own, and backhanded the shapeshifter with the other with all the strength he could muster. The shapeshifter was knocked off-balance, and Dean used the emphasis of the move to swing him down onto his knees. The shapeshifter quickly pushed himself back to his feet, and manoeuvred himself around behind Dean, wrapping one around Dean's neck and using the other to ensnare Dean's arm that had previously held his own.

Dean responded in turn by jabbing his elbow into the shapeshifter's abdomen as hard as he could. The shapeshifter's hold slackened, and Dean jabbed a second time.

With a grunt of frustration, the shapeshifter shoved Dean forwards. Caught off guard, Dean lost his balance, stumbled forward a couple of steps and fell flat on his face.

Looking up almost as soon as he'd hit the ground, he saw the knife lying on the floor in front of him. Seizing it by the hilt, Dean jolted to his knees and swung the knife around, knowing without looking exactly where the shapeshifter was going to be and exactly where to aim the knife.

A startled gasp escaped the shapeshifter as the blade of the knife went all the way into his body, aimed diagonally up right below his ribs. Dean almost immediately let go of the knife, falling back with the shapeshifters blood sprayed on his face and hand.

The shapeshifter staggered backwards, choking as blood began to trickle from the corners of his lips. Then, with a rage-filled cry, he ripped the knife from chest, and turned a pair of hate-filled eyes onto Dean.

"You will burn for that." He choked out, raising the knife in a threatening manner. Dean, fear in his eyes, tried to crawl backwards as the shapeshifter moved towards him.

"Hey!"

The shapeshifter turned to the side, and there stood Sam, the gun from Dean's bag held tightly in his hand. The shapeshifter stared at him for a second, and then a cold, harsh laugh escaped him.

"Come on, Sammy." He said. "I remember the alley as well as Dean; he saw you. You can't even hold a gun right, let alone fire it."

Sam glared at the shapeshifter, clicking off the safety of the gun. "No?" he asked, almost mockingly. A strangely focused look suddenly entered his eyes, and in the next instant, he fired a silver bullet right at the shapeshifter. For good measure, a second bullet followed little more then a second later.

The first bullet caused the shapeshifter to stagger backwards in startled pain; the second actually had enough force to throw him backwards a foot or so, bringing him to crash landing on the bathroom floor.

Shaking from head to toe, Sam lowered the gun and, against all his body's warnings moved slowly forward, one step at a time.

For some reason, as he entered the bathroom, he looked to his right. To the mirror. It was broken, where he thought Dean's face might be reflected. Just above the fracture in the reflective surface, Sam's own face was reflected. When he saw startled him.

There was no fear, no sign of pain or confusion. There was just an empty, ferocious hatred. And it seemed as though it was aimed at himself.

He turned to look down at the bloodied corpse of the shapeshifter, his whole body shaking with emotion. The hatred boiled up inside of him, directed at the now dead cause of all the pain that went along with it. Clenching his fists, he gave the corpse a hard, ferocious kick in the upper body, finding a sick satisfaction in the faint crack that followed. A strangled sob came from somewhere in his throat, and he kicked again, and again. He kept at it, taking out all his pain and anger on the broken body.

Behind him, Dean had heaved himself to his feet, and was standing back, watching the younger man slowly kick the shapeshifter's body into a mangled pulp. He didn't do anything, didn't try to stop him; Sam was hurting, and as far as Dean could tell, this seemed the only way to get the hurt out of him. So he waited.

-;-

**A/N: How was that? Good? I hope so. Despite how much trouble I had with it, I think I like the way this chapter turned out. And I realized, after remembering where I'm up to in the story, that there aren't many chapters left. Three, maybe four at the most. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, I'll do my best to get the next one finished ASAP. **


	17. Tonight I'll Drift in a Dream With You

**Forever's Not Enough**

**Disclaimer**: See Prologue. I do not own the song 'Lullaby'. So far as I know, it's owned by the Dixie Chicks.

**Author's Note**: This is where it all started, with the idea for this chapter. Well, actually it started with the song mentioned in the disclaimer, and then came the chapter idea, followed soon after by the story idea.

**Thanks to**: FastFuriousChick, for your help with this chapter in general.

**Review Answers**: Gulp, seventeen reviews to answer. Lol, thanks to everyone who has reviewed.

inu-kaglover45 – Oh, that's too bad. Oh well, I guess you'll just have to eventually go insane (shrugs unhelpfully). Thanks. Scared, are we? Hehe. You should be, I am evil after all. Don't worry, I'll try not to make it too heartbreaking. Lol. Thanks, here it is.

darkangel36 – Thanks for saying so. I suppose it does. Yeah, good thing. Yes, only a few more. More? You want more of this insanity? Lol, don't worry; according to my profile, there's going to be a sequel… and then a sequel to that. Good, good, that's the reaction I was hoping for. Yes, that was it… hmmm… I'll have to remember to do something to clarify that later on. Yes, Sammy did a good job. Here's the new chapter. Enjoy.

Mus4u – Good to know.

roxy071288 – Good question. It will be explained… at a later date. Oh, yay.

Wolf-of-Insanity – A good reaction, lol. Yes, even more so in this chapter. Yes, it would have. And he doesn't need anymore help with that. Thanks, I hope you still think it's excellent after this chapter (innocent smile). Here it is, enjoy.

ObuletShadowStalker – I take it you mean Sammy's attack on the shapeshifter? Yes, well, I figured it was time for him to fight back a little. Total obliteration of the shapeshifter's face wasn't quite what I had in mind, but it worked. Lol, yes, indeed, it can be a good thing… but you didn't hear it from me. Thanks, I did my best with describing him. Lol, oh, good, I was worried for a time I was the only one. Lol, as soon as I read your review, I had to go and get that song and listen to it. You're right, it does kind of fit the story. Lol, believe me, I think you can wait… well, maybe you can't. Read on and let me know. Hope you enjoy it.

Kagome M.K – Thank you, good to know, I hope this is soon enough.

Spuffyshipper – Thanks, I hope this is soon enough. Yes, hopefully. This _is_ me writing the story, though… hmmm. I saw the episode yesterday. Did you get to see it?

LenJade – He is, isn't he? Thanks, good to know. And yes, I thought it was time to show that Sam can be just as dangerous as Dean if given the proper trigger. Thanks.

pandora jazz – Ah, yes, that can be frustrating. Yes, he has. I didn't realize how much until you put it into words though. Yeah, it did. Either that or he's lost his mind, but I think we'll stick with the first conclusion. Yes, I knew from the beginning that Sam was going to be the one who killed the shapeshifter; there was a reason, but I can't for the life of me remember it right now. Damn, I knew I forgot something, lol. No real mention of how he reacts to what Dean does for a living in this chapter. Oh well, let's just pretend he's got to much on his plate as it is to really focus on that right now. Here it is, hope you enjoy it. You're welcome.

astalder27 – Thanks. Yes, Sammy did well.

puplover77 – Yes, I wanted to make sure it was clear how much it hurt Dean to hurt Sam that way. Yes, what can I say? I'm insane, Sam and Dean tying and untying each other is just par for the course (is that right? I've heard it but never actually read it, and for that matter don't even know if I'm using it in the right context, lol). Don't worry; as I said up a ways to someone else, according to my profile I'm going to be writing some sequels. Will do, here it is.

LittleWing – Yay, good to know. Yes, he is. I'm almost sad to see him go. Thanks… I did my very best with them. Here's more, enjoy (I hope).

leoandpiperluva - Yay, good to know. I hope this is soon enough.

jackyll – Yes, I do my best. Yes, he his. Thanks. Here it is, I hope you enjoy it.

FastFuriousChick – Yes there is, lol. And I shall continue to do so as long as you help me. Since we've already discussed much of this, I hope you don't mind that I'm not answering much of your review.

Dawn Vesper – Yay, good to know. I hope this is soon enough.

Moon-Memory – Yaha, that's right. No problem, good to know. Here's some more.

**Chapter 16**: Tonight I'll Drift in a Dream With You

**They didn't have you where I come from  
Never knew the best was yet to come**

After several long minutes, exhaustion finally caught up with Sam, and after a particularly vicious kick, his knees buckled and his legs gave way underneath him, causing him to fall in a heap beside the broken body of the shapeshifter, shaking and sniffling, with the occasional sob thrown in as well.

Dean took a tentative step forwards. "Sam?" he said softly. Sam's back stiffened and he turned to look at Dean. The terror in his eyes almost caused Dean to step back again. Because the terror was directed right at him.

"No!" Sam cried. Moving like a frightened animal, he leapt to his feet as he darted forwards. Dean caught hold of him as he passed, effectively stopping his attempt at escape. "No! No, no! Please, no!" He kept saying it, over and over again.

"Sam, stop, it's me." Dean said, trying to calm the struggling young man. But Sam would hear none of it, punching, beating his fists against Dean's chest, even scratching at him with his fingernails. He was desperate to escape, but Dean knew if he let him go now, he'd never see him again. The panic, the terror in Sam's eyes, maybe it was directed at the shapeshifter, and Dean just reminded him of the shapeshifter right then. But maybe it wasn't; maybe, in the panicked state he was in, all Sam could remember was Dean bringing that knife down against his chest.

"Dammit, Sam, I'm not going to hurt-!" He grunted in surprise and pain as Sam's fist connected with his jaw.

It was instinct, an automatic reaction. Before Dean could so much as think, he had responded to the punch, his own fist slamming into Sam's face. Sam's head snapped to the side, rolling with the punch. Dean pulled his fist back suddenly as if he'd been burned, staring at Sam, horrified by what he'd just done.

**Life began when I saw your face  
And I hear your laugh like a serenade**

"S-Sam." He gasped.

Sam stood, frozen, the only movement the faint rise and fall of his chest as he breathed in and out.

"Sam?" Dean whispered again, slowly reaching forward to lay a hand on Sam's shoulder. Sam shrugged his hand away, and it was as if someone had flipped a switch. All of a sudden the tears started again, more relentless then ever. Dean reached over and took Sam by the shoulders, turning him so that he had to face him. Sam tried to fight him off again, but his struggles were far less fervent then they had been, mostly just trying (poorly) to push Dean away from him. But Dean refused to let go, holding onto him as tight as he could. Finally, Sam just caved in. His knees buckled and he collapsed against Dean, who slowly lowered both of them to the floor, getting down on his knees.

"Shh, Sam, you're alright," he whispered soothingly, holding Sam tight against his chest with one arm and gently stroking his hair with the other hand. "You're safe now, Sammy. He can't hurt you anymore." Sam shook, sniffling slightly, and Dean pressed his lips against his hair, rocking him gently. "No one will hurt you anymore, I promise."

Sam shook in Dean's arm, but didn't fight him anymore. Whether that was out of exhaustion or acceptance, Dean didn't know. Nor did he care, at that point. He had a chance to try and calm Sam down, and he didn't really feel like thinking about how it had come about.

**I slip in bed when you're asleep  
To hold you close and feel your breath on me**

At some point, Dean thought Sam must've drifted off, because his sobs eventually subsided, to be replaced a couple of moments later by quiet, relaxed snoring. With a small sigh, Dean managed to lift Sam up off the ground.

"Somehow, someway…" He muttered, carrying Sam over to the bed with some difficulty, realizing he felt almost as exhausted as Sam looked.

He lowered Sam down onto the bed, and had intended to sleep on the couch, rather then force himself further onto Sam then he already had. But Sam was clutching the front of his shirt like he never wanted to let go, despite the fact that he was asleep. After a moment, Dean sighed and somehow manoeuvred himself onto the other side of the bed, with Sam still holding onto his shirt.

"Alright, Sam." He whispered, stroking the younger man's cheek gently and Sam seemed to try and bury himself against Dean. "I'm right here," he continued. He leaned over and kissed Sam tenderly on the lips, pulling back after only a few seconds.

Then he put his arm protectively around Sam, pulling him closer, and closed his eyes, ready, after what seemed like an eternity and a day, to go to sleep.

**Tomorrow there'll be so much to do  
So tonight I'll drift in a dream with you**

The first time he woke up, it was to Sam's panicked gasps for air and sobs for help, and he reached to put a comforting arm around Sam, trying to seem a little more wide awake then he actually felt.

"Its okay, Sammy," he whispered. "I'm here; I won't let anyone hurt you." He began to wonder if Sam had even properly woken up, because he seemed to settle down again quite quickly when he felt Dean's gentle, reassuring touch, sinking into it like he wanted to be swallowed whole.

Holding Sam to him, trying to make him feel safe, Dean couldn't help but notice his thoughts drifting into the bathroom where the shapeshifter's body rested, most definitely not in peace. He was going to have to do something about that; the last thing they needed right now was for someone to discover that there was a broken, bloody corpse in his bathroom.

"I won't let anyone hurt you." He repeated, kiss Sam's forehead. "I'm sorry." He added after a moment, and there in the darkness, he let the tears fall again. All the bloodshed over the past few days was on his hands, or at least that was what he believed. Sure, the shapeshifter would have gone on killing whether he'd come here or not, but it would have left Sam alone. Sam wouldn't be lying there in his arms, fresh cuts still drying on his chest. Sam wouldn't have had to kill someone.

"This wasn't your fault." Sam whispered dreamily, and Dean somehow had a feeling he hadn't even heard Dean's apology, it was just another part of whatever he was dreaming. But the next thing he knew, Sam's arms were slipping beneath his own, wrapping around him protectively as his own had wrapped around Sam, protectively, reassuringly. Something new to Dean, who hadn't felt any warm touch, no reassuring embrace, in over twenty years.

**How long do you want to be loved**

The second time he woke up, it was four-thirty in the morning, and he, as gently as he could, tried to disentangle himself from Sam's arms. He'd just succeeded, and was slipping out of bed when Sam's eyes opened.

"Wharyougo'ng?" He asked sleepily. Dean hesitated, not sure he really wanted Sam involved any further in what he was doing then he already had been. But Sam, it seemed, was now wide awake, and sat up, staring at him in the darkness. "Dean?"

"I… I need to get rid of the body." Dean said. Sam blinked, and then turned his head in the direction of the bathroom, a shiver taking over his body as he obviously remember what had gone on the day before. Sniffling, Sam looked back around at Dean.

"I'm… coming." He said, apparently trying to sound sure of himself. He didn't have much like, but Dean gave him points for trying. Of course, that did not mean he was letting Sam come.

"Sam, you're already way more involved in this then I like anyone to be." Dean said. "You're hurt, you have to be half-asleep to touch me without flinching, and… it's freezing outside. You don't have a jacket, and in case you haven't looked in the mirror lately, none of mine would fit you."

Sam responded in the only way he could think of. He took the warmest blanket off of the bed, and draped it around his shoulders, pulling it around himself, and smiling at Dean. "Cold dealt with." He said.

Dean sighed, wiping a hand over his face. "Sam, this isn't something I want you to be involved with. I don't want you to come."

"Well, I want to come," Sam said stubbornly. "I'm fine."

**Is forever enough, is forever enough**

Dean stared at Sam for a long minute before speaking. "Fine, huh?" he asked. Nodding, he got to his feet, and walked away, almost seeming to vanish into the darkness that filled the room. Sam looked around, swallowing nervously.

"Dean?" he whispered. He pulled the blanket tighter around him, his gaze sweeping frantically around the room. "Dean, this isn't funny." He gasped, his breath quickening.

A hand suddenly closed around his throat and flipped him around so that he was lying flat on his back. He struggled, trying to push off his attacker, trying at the same time not to panic. He was failing miserably at both of them by the time he took the chance to actually look and see it was Dean. He froze, trying to look calm. Again, he failed. It didn't matter that he knew this was Dean. He looked at those green eyes, and beautiful face… all he saw was the shapeshifter.

"You may be a lot of things," Dean said, pulling back. "Fine is not one of them." He finished. Sam reached up and rubbed his throat, staring at Dean with a scared look in his eyes. Dean sighed, sitting down on the end of the bed. "You know what? You really want to come? Okay then, come. But you're staying in the car. Understood?"

Sam nodded. Dean nodded in response. "Good." He said. Sam swallowed, watching Dean, and with a sigh, Dean got to his feet. "Go wait in the car. You've seen enough of that thing to last a life time."

Sam knew that by 'that thing', Dean was referring to the shapeshifter, or more, his mangled corpse. And Sam was all too happy to not have to see it. So, getting to his feet and pulling the blanket tight around him, he walked to the door of the motel room and exited.

Sam's moment of fear was quickly replaced by boredom with a hint of embarrassment as he waited for Dean in the front seat of the car, wrapped in a blanket. He was also cold, even with the blanket.

It was still dark, so Sam had to work very hard to keep the panic down when the back car door opened without warning.

**How long do you want to be loved**

Dean somehow managed to get the shapeshifter's body, wrapped in a blanket, into the back seat of the car, and then came around and got in the front seat. The drive out of town was made in silence, neither man really sure what could be said.

Once outside of town, Sam did as he'd been told and waited in the car, but he leaned over to Dean's side of the car and watched out the driver's window as Dean dug a hole in the ground not far away. It took some time, maybe half an hour, maybe an hour, Sam wasn't really paying attention. He just stayed where he was, watching Dean.

When the hole was finally dug out, Dean dumped the shapeshifter's body into it, and then covered it in salt and kerosene. Sam waited, watching, and then Dean pulled out a box of matches, lit one, and dropped it down into the hole. He stood on the edge of the hole, staring down into it as the shapeshifter's body burned. Sam shivered at the cold look on Dean's face, wondering how long the older man had been doing this.

Taking a deep breath, Sam moved back over onto his own seat, and opened the door, climbing out. It was freezing outside, what with the sun still not being up, and he pulled the blanket tighter around himself.

Dean noticed him as he approached. "Sam, I thought I told you to-" He was cut off as Sam reached him, and threw his arms around the older man. "What-?"

"I don't want to be afraid of you, Dean." Sam whispered into his ear. "Hold me, make me love you again, Dean." Dean was a little surprised by the sudden embrace, not expecting anything like that from Sam for a long time. Gently, he put his arms around Sam, who stiffened slightly but didn't let go, just held on tighter with his head resting on Dean's shoulder.

**Is forever enough  
**'**Cause I'm never, never giving you up**

Breathing heavily, Sam laid back down against the pillows, staring up at Dean. Dean was on his hands and knees, gazing down at Sam with an almost hesitant look in his eyes.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked. Sam looks like he's far from sure, but he nods all the same. Dean leans down and kisses Sam tenderly on the lips, and Sam responds likewise, reaching up and cupping the back of Dean's neck with one hand.

Dean's lips slowly move away from Sam's, moving up to his ear lobe. Sam tries not to flinch as his lips come to the cut going from his ear lobe to the corner of his eyes. Sensing Sam's tension Dean hesitates, but Sam holds his head in place, leaving him no choice but to continue. But he moves away from the cut, making a slow trail down Sam's jaw line and coming to his chin, his lips sliding under and kissing Sam at the very top of his neck, right beneath his chin.

"You never… told me why… you came." Dean whispered.

"Mm-hm." Sam moaned, eyes closed. Dean pulled back, and Sam opened his eyes.

"I… why did you come, Sam?" he asked. "After all the things… the shapeshifter did to you, why did you willingly come here, to him?"

Sam stared up at Dean for a long moment, like he himself was trying to think of a reason. Finally, he gave a sigh. "I… I have a life here, you know?" he said, and Dean wondered what this had to do with why he'd come to the motel room after the shapeshifter had called him. "It's not much… actually, it's practically nothing. But it's mine."

"What's wrong with that?" Dean asked.

"What's wrong is that none of it matters." Sam said softly. "What's wrong is that when I'm with you, all that I can see, hear and think of is you. What's wrong is…" He stopped, taking a deep breath. "What's wrong is that I love you."

Dean stared down at Sam. And felt something inside of him… break.

"But… it's not wrong, I… I love you, Dean." Sam continued. "I don't understand it. I think even if we lived forever it wouldn't be enough for me to figure it out. But it's there. Dean?"

The older man had rolled off of Sam, lying on his back, taking in deep breaths. "Sam-"

"I want you, Dean." Sam interrupted. "God, I want you so much, and it terrifies me."

"Don't." Dean whispered.

"Dean-"

"No!" Dean sat up, staring at Sam. "No, please, don't do this to me. Don't…" He froze, and Sam held his gaze, confusion in his eyes. Dean turned his back on him, swinging his legs off the bed and getting to his feet. "You have no idea what you're saying, Sam… you can't… you'll just be…"

"Dean…"

He felt a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off. "Sam… I don't…"

"Wh-what?" Sam asked, almost reluctantly.

"Sam, I… I feel things for you that I… I just… can't." Turning around, Dean looked Sam right in the eyes (hard, considering Sam stood four or five inches taller then him).

"But-"

"Sam." Dean interrupted, a little harshly. He looked away. "Jeez, Sam, come on. I mean, who are we kidding?" he asked. "We live completely different lives. I live a completely different life." _One I hope you never have to see. One I wish so much you were a part of._ "You… you can't love me, Sam." _No one can. No one's allowed to love me._ "I… I'm leaving Sam… I'm leaving really soon…" _I'm leaving you behind. Why'd you have to love me, Sammy?_

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, because he couldn't stand seeing the hurt, broken look in Sam's own eyes. "And… and you're leaving… right now…" He said. "You're going to go home. And you're going to forget about this. About me." Sam just stared. "Go, Sam! Just… just go!" He shouted. The younger man gave a startled jerk, jolted from the trance he'd been thrown into. With the enthusiasm of a man walking to his death, he retrieved his clothes from the floor, quickly pulled them on, and then, with one final look of confusion and hurt directed at Dean, Sam turned and opened the room door, early morning light pouring in as he slipped outside, and then he closed the door, and Dean was thrown into darkness once again. The story of his life.

-;-

**A/N: Gasp! What have I done? I always complain when this happens in other fics, now I've gone and done it myself. I'm such a hypocrite.**

**Now that that's clear, let me just say that there was more planned for this chapter. Originally, the entire song. But then I got to where it is and realized, song or not, I had to end it here. It was just at the perfect place to end the chapter. So, the remainder of the song will be in the next chapter (I don't know why I'm being so obsessive about this song; possibly because it was the cause of this entire story?), which means, congratulations folks, you get an extra chapter, sort of.**

**I hope this chapter was believable. I'm a little worried about how Dean reacted near the end (there will be explanations for that), and about how Sam's been acting pretty much for the entire chapter. I wanted him to be the one to say 'I love you' but I also didn't want to rush out of the irrational fear of Dean's… shape, for want of a better word. As I said, hope it was believable, and I hope you enjoyed it up until Dean broke up with Sammy, if not the entire chapter. Until next time, Cyas. **


	18. Close Your Eyes When You're Miles Away

**Forever's Not Enough**

**Disclaimer**: See Prologue. I do not own the song 'Lullaby'. See previous chapter.

**Author's Note**: And so the song is continued in this chapter. I may taking a bit of a stretch here, I'm not sure. Hope you enjoy, this probably won't be as long as the previous chapter.

**Thanks to**: FastFuriousChick, for beta'ing the chapter.

**Review Answers**: Over 200 reviews!!! Thank you all! This was a review count I never expected to get.

roxy071288 – I broke Sam and Dean up.

IslandGurl808 – Really? Well, I won't try to influence you (besides what the story itself is doing). Thanks for reading this story. A happy ending, huh? A few people have asked for one of those. I'll see what I can do about it. You did? Yay, not many people did, lol. An interesting scenario, and a definite possibility (the first part, don't know about the second part). The third part's an almost certain possibility. Here's the update, hope you enjoy. Thanks for reviewing.

ObuletShadowStalker – Yes it was, hehe. Yes, it was cruel, from Sam's point of view. From Dean's point of view, it was the only thing he could do. Poor guy's really messed up in the head. Thank you. I'm glad it was believable. Yeah, he is. I hope this is soon enough. BTW, congrats and thanks, you wrote the 200th review.

ellynora – Yes, he was. Lol, I think I'm beginning to understand why they're relationship is always so rocky in fanfiction; it's fun for the author. Well, I'm enjoying it anyway. Thanks, I did my very best. I hope this is soon enough.

inu-kaglover45 – Well, you're the first, lol. Sort of. Thanks, I did my best to incorporate both of those. Don't worry, hopefully this wait hasn't been too long. Hope you enjoy this chapter.

zoned-out – That's a good question. One I think Dean's going to have to ask Sam one day soon. Thanks for pointing that out, and thanks for reviewing.

Insomniac-Angel – You think so? I had a lot of trouble finally killing the shapeshifter; I had no real clue what I was doing, and just wrote it as it came. Oh, I did? Yay, that was another thing that really concerned me: getting Sam to say it, because I still wanted it obvious that he was yet to get over what the shapeshifter did to him. Ah, yes, the song. The beginning of this entire idea. It's continued in this chapter. Yes, this happy ending people keep talking about… I may have to rent one first before I try it out for real, lol. You want the pretty, awesome boys together? Hehe, no promises.

pulpfish – Yay, that's something I was hoping for but not expecting. Oh, I think he can… but the possible bad of that situation seems to outweigh to possible good in Dean's mind. Yes, he would be just as safe, but no one ever said that Dean behaved rationally. Thanks. The end's still a couple chapters off… I think…

andrewhot – Yay, here's the update. Thanks for reviewing.

darkangel36 – Good, good, loss of words can always be a good sign. Thank you, and don't worry, here's a little more. Yeah, I know what you mean, which was why I ended it where I did. Yes, Sam's hurt and Dean's not acting like he should. Almost like we're back in the real 'verse, lol. Hehe, yeah, he probably does. Good to know. I'm glad I'm doing so well. And excitement is always good, lol. Here's the next chapter, enjoy.

Kagome M.K – Too late, it happened…

Dawn Vesper – Yes, he is an idiot. That's a good question, one that may never be answered. Oh, that's good. Here's the next one.

**Chapter 17**: Close Your Eyes When You're Miles Away

**As you wander through this troubled world**

It didn't take long for him to clean up the room. It took him a little longer to clear the blood stains off the bathroom floor as best he could (he'd just have to hope he was far away before anyone thought to check the room).

He was just putting his bags into the back of the Impala when the sound of a motorbike approaching caught his attention. He waited, and sure enough, the bike came into the parking lot, coming to a stop not far behind him, the motor dying as its rider climbed off.

Dean turned around, looking in the direction, and sighed wearily. "Did you even go home?" he asked, noticing that Sam was still wearing the same clothes he'd left the motel in earlier that morning. Clothes, Dean noted, that probably shouldn't be worn on a motorbike.

Sam shook his head miserably, taking a step towards Dean. Dean took a step back, and the hurt look on Sam's face really cut him up inside.

"Sam…" He started with another sigh.

"No, wait." Sam said, holding up a hand. "Please, I didn't come here to argue." He added, swallowing as he waited for Dean's response. Slowly, the older man nodded. "I… was it… was any of it… real?" he asked meekly. Dean's brow furrowed. "Please, I… I'll let you go, just… just tell me I didn't imagine it." Sam's voice was so pleading; his eyes so full of an emotion not-quite-daring to be hope, that Dean felt his resolve cracking. Slowly, but swiftly, he moved forward, one hand coming up to cup the back of Sam's head as the other rested on Sam's hip, bringing their lips together. It was a gentle, soft, no-strings-attached kiss. A goodbye.

"Is this real enough for you?" He whispered against Sam's lips. "It was real." He said softly, almost to himself. Sam nodded, and pulled back, turning away so that Dean wouldn't see the tears that were now trailing down his cheeks. Neither of them could put goodbye into words. Neither of them wanted it. So they left it all there, unspoken.

Dean turned to the Impala as he heard the motorbike start up again, and Sam rode off, the sound eventually fading away. He let out a single, strangled sob, his whole body shuddering under the pressure of staying in control.

And then he recovered. Or repressed, however you wanted to look at it. Either way, crying until his eyes burned and his head throbbed was no longer a raging desire.

He slammed the trunk down closed, wiped his eyes furiously, and then walked around to the driver's door, climbing into the car. All he did for the next few minutes was hold the steering wheel so tight he was sure he might break it.

It was just as he was turning the keys in the car that he remembered the he needed to return the room keys to the office. With a sigh, he got back out of the car.

There was nobody in the office when he got there, which he was kind of thankful for. He dropped the keys on the desk, and quickly left, returning to the car. This time, he didn't hesitate. He climbed in, pulled on his seatbelt, and started the car, roaring out of the parking lot, probably a lot faster then he should have.

**In search of all things beautiful**

Sam wiped his eyes as he pushed the bike back into the garage. He felt like someone had reached into his chest and ripped out his heart. In the literal and figurative sense; his chest really did feel like it had been ripped open. He sniffled as he parked the bike near the back wall, and then exited through the door that led into the kitchen.

The note he'd left on the bench for his father was gone; so at least his father knew what he'd done. Well, not exactly what he'd done, but he'd written a legitimate reason in the note to explain his sudden departure from the house.

"Dad?" he called, trying to keep his voice steady. "I… I'm sorry I left… there was something I needed to take care of… I guess you'll…" He stopped, realizing that the house was empty. Sighing, he walked into the living room, wondering what 'important business meeting' had whisked his father out of the house this time.

He frowned when he saw what looked like a book resting on the coffee table, an envelope on top of it. Hesitantly, Sam walked over, sitting down on the couch and picking up the envelope.

His name was written on the front, in his father's handwriting. He sighed again; typical. Not once, for as long as Sam could remember, had his father ever waited to say goodbye. If he had to go out, he went out, and either left a message on the answering machine from his secretary telling Sam where his father was, or else he left a note for Sam. This was the first time he'd left it in an envelope though.

He slipped the envelope into a pocket of his trousers, and turned the cover of the book over. It turned out it wasn't a book; it was a photo album.

The first page showed a man, his father about twenty-five years ago, standing beside a woman on their wedding day. A very tall woman. She stood about half a dozen inches over his father (Sam had always wondered where his height had come from). He couldn't help but smile sadly at the photos. One in particular was his mother throwing the bouquet. The smile on his father's face made him almost completely unrecognizable compared to the man he was today.

He turned over the page. There were a couple more photos of the wedding, and then came photos of what could only be their honeymoon. Sam wiped his eyes, staring at the photo of his mother as she ate the breakfast in bed his father must have served her.

**You can close your eyes when you're miles away**

He was outside of town when it all came crashing down on him. Everything he'd seen and said and done over the last twenty-four hours seemed to slam into Dean like he'd just driven into a brick wall. Without warning, he turned the wheel and drove the car off the road.

It had barely even stopped before he shoved the door open, all-but fell out onto his hands and knees, crawled about half a dozen feet, and then emptied out the contents of his stomach onto the ground in front of him.

He stayed there on his hands and knees, for ages after he finally finished vomiting. He just couldn't move, couldn't believe that, after everything the shapeshifter had done to Sam, it had been Dean who had probably hurt the Sam the most. Maybe he was giving himself too much credit, but the look on Sam's face when Dean had told him to go was etched into his brain, and it definitely _felt_ like he'd done the most damage.

He cried. His body shook with each loud sob that forced its way out of him. And when he'd finally finished crying (at least so uncontrollably), he threw his head back and he screamed. He let all the pain and the despair and self-loathing out to the open sky, because it seemed the only thing that could bear the weight of it all. God knows, Dean couldn't. Not anymore.

He screamed until his ears rang and his throat was raw, and then he leaned back, his hands resting on the ground as he continued to sob, his whole body shaking as he tried to get control of himself again. But the truth was, he was tired of being in control. Being in control had kept everyone around him at arms length, and it had cost him the one thing he wanted most of all in the world. And he was sick of it. Sick to his stomach.

He rolled over onto his hands and knees again, and began to crawl weakly back to the car, sniffling, and shaking all over. He reached the car, and used the open driver's door to pull himself to his feet. As he was steadying himself against the car, trying to regain his balance and composure, something on the floor of the back seat caught his eye. He frowned, staring at it.

**And hear my voice like a serenade**

He had a vague recollection, somewhere in the back of his mind, of Sam dropping it there not long before their second sexual experience. He hadn't thought much of it at the time, and apparently, neither had Sam, because it was still there.

Dean stared through the window at the black leather jacket, for what seemed like a long time, not quite sure what he was supposed to do. Well, really he probably didn't have to do anything. He could leave it there.

But he didn't. Instead, he opened the door, and hesitantly reached down, his fingertips brushing against the dark leather. A strange warmth spread up his arms and through his body, like warm syrup in his veins. After another moment's hesitation, he closed his fingers around the collar of the jacket, lifting it off the floor and stepping back, straightening up as he did.

Now, Dean didn't normally go for the touchy-feely crap you saw on TV so much these days. But standing there in the middle of nowhere with only his car for company, and nothing but an article of clothing to remind him of Sam, he just didn't give a damn about how chick-flick he got right then. It wasn't like anyone was going to see him.

He held the jacket to himself, hugging it tightly against his chest. It was ridiculous, it was sappy, and if anyone drove by they'd probably think he was crazy. He did it anyway. He felt something, he couldn't explain it, but it felt almost like Sam, and as he rubbed his face against the tough leather, he could almost feel Sam's hand touching his face.

Tears rolled down his cheeks as closed his eyes, trying to picture Sam in his head, trying to replace the jacket with him in his mind. And then suddenly the warmth he'd felt became something else entirely.

His eyes opened, and he felt the flames licking at his skin, breathed in the smoke and the small of burning flesh and hair. It sickened him and he choked, his eyes watering. Panic filled him and he screamed, crying out for help, unable to move, unable to think, all his senses overcome by the fire and the smoke-

And with a sharp intake of breath, Dean let the jacket fall from his arms, reaching out wildly to keep from falling over. His hand found the roof of the car and he caught himself just in time, coughing and choking for a moment before his mind finally realized that there was no smoke. He swallowed, trying to steady himself against the car, breathing heavily.

And then he spun around, looking back in the direction of St Louis. Not that he expected to see anything.

"Sam…" He whispered, still feeling the same terror Sam had experienced.

'_Dean?_'

**How long do you want to be loved  
****Is forever enough, is forever enough**

Sam had shed more then a few tears while looking through the photo album, looking through the life he had no memory of. Being only six months old when his mother had died, this wasn't surprising. But when he came to one photo in particular, he felt as though someone had ripped his heart out all over again.

It was a photo of his father and mother sitting on the bonnet of an old pick-up truck, with baby Sam in his mother's arms. His parents were smiling broadly at the camera, and some ways behind them, Sam saw a house that might have been the one they lived in before his mother died.

Slowly, he touched the image of his mother's face, tracing it with his fingertips. A lump formed in his throat as he thought about the woman his mother might have been. Thought about how happy she seemed in that photo, not knowing that she would dead in just a few short months.

"Why'd you leave us, Mum?" he whispered softly. A noise suddenly reached his ears. It was little more then a whisper, a dark, sinister whisper that carried no real words as it filled his ears. He looked around the room, trying to find the source of the voice.

Something warm and sticky splattered against his hand. He looked down, and saw a small droplet of blood on his hand. His flinched as a second droplet splattered near the first. His breath quickened, and he looked up above him. His eyes widened in terror at the empty look in his father's eyes as he stared down at him from the ceiling, his abdomen soaked in blood.

"No!" He screamed. Love him or hate him, that was his father up there, and when it came down to it, he loved his father.

**How long do you want to be loved  
****Is forever enough  
****Cause I'm never, never giving you up**

Before his eyes, flames erupted around his father's body. Bright, orange, devouring flames, and his eyes widened in terror as the image of his father being consumed by fire was burned into his mind.

"Dad!" He cried, but he couldn't move. All he could do was sit there, his eyes locked with the blank, empty eyes of his father. "No, Dad. Don't…" He was surprised how quickly the fire is spreading around the room. He could feel the heat, not just from around him, but from above him as well, the heat seeming to almost physically beat against Sam as he tried unsuccessfully to force himself to move, to run, to do anything besides sitting there waiting for the flames to take him as well.

His eyes stung from the smoke and his nostrils felt like they were on fire. His whole body did actually, for an entirely different reason, and still he couldn't move.

"I'm sorry." He whispered up at his father. "I'm sorry." The whispering seemed to be getting louder, tormenting him, taunting him, words in a language that he wasn't even sure was a language.

"Sam…"

His eyes widened, that single word filling his ears, blocking out the whispering, repeating itself again and again as if echoing around the room.

_Dean?_ that one word he thought. He knew Dean wasn't there, in the room with him, but…

A loud crash interrupted his thoughts, and he visibly flinched. Looking around, he spotted a part of the ceiling, almost completely consumed by flames, now on the floor not far away. He gasped, coughing as he breathed in a lungful of smoke.

A cracking sound above him drew Sam's attention back up to the ceiling. His father's body was almost completely consumed by flames, barely visible anymore. And above him, the ceiling was beginning to break… directly above Sam.

-;-

**A/N: Damn, that was hard to finish. I'm not sure I even like how it finished. Seems almost too abrupt. But it's the best I can do. I know, this chapter is somewhat shorter then normal. But it's the second one this weekend, so it's allowed to be short. I hope I did alright; my biggest worry is how I did the scenes with Dean (one even more then others), and the ending with Sam, which just didn't want to be written. I hope the lyrics weren't spread too thinly; it just seemed the only way to get it done the way I wanted it. Anyway, hope ya'll enjoyed it, until next time, Cyas.**


	19. The Fire in My Heart is Burning Me Alive

**Forever's Not Enough**

**Disclaimer**: See Prologue. 'In The End' is sung by Linkin Park. Do you think it suits this version of the person who's listening to it?

**Author's Note**: I'm so, so sorry it took so long to update. Admittedly, two weeks isn't that long, but for me (and a lot of you it seems) it is. Unfortunately, this probably won't get done before Christmas, so you may be waiting a little while afterwards while I enjoy all my presents.

Probably not necessary, but I'll warn you all that some of the things in this chapter may be inaccurate.

**Thanks to**: FastFuriousChick for ya help.

**Review Answers**: Starting next story, I use the Review Answering system, lol.

Mus4u – Yes, cliffhanger. Have done, hope you enjoy it.

pulpfish – Lol, good reaction. Good, yes, I decided almost as soon as I started redeeming him that it'd be so much fun to kill him. Yes, he is, lol. Thanks. No problem, I know the feeling well.

IslandGurl808 – Yes, sad is good. And yes, it did make a connection. Thank you, I always try not to overdo Dean's use of his emotions, but in this case, I thought it fit, and even then I was worried I'd overdone it. Yes, that's exactly what he's like. Don't we all, lol. Here's the update, enjoy.

Dean's-Goddess – Thank you, here it is.

andrewhot – Good to know. You'll have to read on to find out. I hope this is soon enough.

Dawn Vesper – Thanks, really? Lol, my suffering never seems to show. No problem, will do.

zoned-out – Thanks. Lol, yes, won't that be interesting? Probably, though I don't think it'll be in this story.

inu-kaglover45 – Yes, don't worry, you're over-reacting and jumping to conclusions. There's a teeny-tiny bit more after this. Thank you, yes, you can say it.

xxsammiexx – Yay, good to know. You have? Here's the next chapter; you'll have to read on to find out. Thanks for reviewing.

ObuletShadowStalker – Lol. Oh, I did it quite easily. Well, now that you mention it (scribbles heart attack and adrenaline rush of to-do list), no, why would I do that? Oh, yay, that's always a good sign. For me, anyway. Lol, ah, dramatics can be so much fun. I hope this is soon enough. Well deserved? Thanks.

Spuffyshipper – Thanks, I hope this is soon enough. Yeah, if something going to go wrong, you can bet it'll happen to Sammy. Oh, definitely, that was such a great and sad scene! I think I did start crying… one teeny tiny tear… and I began plotting ways to get the secret… then I realized all those ways would bring a halt to Supernatural, and I couldn't do that, so I guess I just have to wait. Yes, I too am obsessed… lol.

puplover77 – Yes, I figured: Dean has trouble with emotions; Dean has trouble with love; Dean sends Sam packing. But it's just a defense mechanism, he really does care about Sam. Yes, I am. You didn't? Good, I was hoping Daddy Dearest getting the chop (you know what I mean) would be a surprise. Well, not smell, but yeah, he does have an ability, which I will try my very best to explain in-story. And if I don't, there will be an explanation in the Author's Note of the final chapter. Can Sam die? I don't know, you'll have to read on to find out.

darkangel36 – Lol, that's okay; so long as it's easy to read, I'll live. Good to know; I always have trouble giving Dean proper emotional breakdowns. According to a previous chapter, it's a black Kawasaki Z750. As I recall, it took me over an hour to find a bike for him. Yeah, poor guy. As I've said above, he didn't actually smell. I'll have explanations… soon, lol. But thanks anyway. Here's more.

jackyll – Thanks. Yes, they are. But we love them anyway. I'm sure they can… they're just looking in the wrong direction. Yes, I have this habit of using song lyrics to emphasize the emotions of the chapter. Here it is, enjoy.

Miss Meehan – Yes, I am, lol. No, it can't. Plus, I discovered something else about it: its fun. For me, anyway, lol. Yeah, they just can't escape it. Indeed, there isn't any. For the author's anyway. I'm not sure what the readers would have to say about that. Me, clever? Of course I am, lol (major rush of blood to the ego). Yes, it was either Jess or Papa Adams, and since someone had previously asked that I let Jess live, Papa Adams just got the short straw. Yeah, although in this case, it has as much to do with Dean's ability as it does with his connection to Sam… still not sure exactly what that connection is, lol. Still? Keep that up, lol, it'll keep you safe, sane and… well, it'll keep you prepared for when I kill characters unexpectedly in the future.

Wolf-of-Insanity – Yes, they are dreadful things when one is reading them. Yes it will/has/did, lol. Yes, Dean's an idiot. Sam's an idiot. Let's have a party, lol. Yes, despite the fact that Sam did just lose his father, we must focus on him being with Dean, hehe. Here it is. Ranting is not a problem, I like ranting.

djiann – Aww, now that's what I call devotion, lol. No one's ever wanted to fire someone just because I haven't updated. I know, I'm sorry for the long wait. Thanks for reviewing.

**Chapter 17**: The Fire in My Heart is Burning Me Alive

Driving back into St Louis, Dean broke at least half a dozen laws into tiny pieces. Not that he cared. Right at that moment, the only thing he was really focused on was getting to Sam. As fast as he could, the law be damned. So it was really lucky he got himself and the Impala back to Sam's father's house in one piece.

Unfortunately, that was when luck abandoned him. As he rushed from the car, he found his way blocked by a fireman.

"Hey, let me past!" He all but shouted at the man, making a move to get past the fireman. It didn't work, and he was pushed back.

"I can't do that, sir." The young fireman said. "The rate the fire is spreading, there's no safe way in or out."

Dean froze; that was really the last thing he needed to hear right then. He swallowed, staring at the fireman. "No way?" he echoed. "No… no way at all?"

The unvoiced question must have been more obvious then he had intended, because the young fireman hesitated a moment before give an affirmative nod, a look of sympathy in his eyes. "I'm sorry." He said. "If there was anyone still in there by the time we got here… they're long gone." Dean felt as though something had suddenly started squeezing the life out of his heart. "I'm sorry." The fireman repeated.

Something close to a choking sob came from somewhere in Dean's throat. He had a vague recognition that he'd lost control of his legs and was now on his hands and knees, and his vision was suddenly blurred by the tears fighting for release.

"No…" He sobbed out. "He's… he's not… he can't be… he's… not…" He repeated the words over and over again like a mantra, unable to believe for even a second that Sam was… okay, maybe for a second, but he had quickly squashed that part of him. He couldn't be dead… he just couldn't.

So this was the second time in under an hour that Dean had lost all self-control, and this time, it had happened in front of living, breathing people. He should care about that, considering how long he'd spent trying to avoid any evidence that he felt such emotions. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thought he did care. Mostly, though, he just didn't give a damn.

He squeezed his eyes shut, thinking of Sam over and over again, thinking the name, visualizing him in his head, trying to do what he'd done outside of town. But there was nothing. No flash of sensations, no feeling of warmth or heat or flames or anything. Dean tried to tell himself this didn't mean anything; he had no idea what had happened on the outside of town, and for all he knew it was a one-shot thing. Whether it was or it wasn't, it had happened. That meant that Dean was meant to come back, didn't it? That he was meant to come back and find Sam, and that everything would be okay. Because what was the point of having his lungs polluted by smoke that wasn't there? Of feeling the flames lick at his skin, and hearing Sam screaming in pain from who-knew how far away. Just to torment him? To let him know that, once again, he'd done exactly the wrong thing and gotten yet another person killed?

The way life was treating him, Dean was beginning to wonder if that _was_ the only reason he'd felt what Sam had been feeling. Some higher power pointing out the obvious: what Dean loved, Dean lost, painfully. That was how it had always been, and looked like that was how it was always going to be.

"Sir?"

Dean looked up slowly, the voice sounding like it was coming across a great distance. Actually, he looked like he was a great distance away as well; he looked… blurry, like he wasn't really there. Or was that because Dean's tears were distorting his vision? Someone was there… and Dean… what was he doing? Why was he on the ground?

"Sam…" he sobbed softly, squeezing his eyes shut. That's right… Sam… gone… dead. Dean wanted Sam… wanted so desperately to feel Sam's hand on his cheek; he wanted to apologize, he wanted Sam with him, he'd beg for forgiveness if that was what it took. He just wanted him back.

"Hello?" The young fireman's voice was more urgent this time, but no response came. He looked around in the direction of the ambulance. "I need some help over here!" He shouted.

-;-

"_I've put my trust, in you. Pushed as far as I can go…_" Linkin Park played loudly in Jess's ears as she sat back against the couch, staring at the photo album propped open in front of her. The photo she was looking at was one of she and Sam, at around seventeen years of age, on Halloween.

Sam had spent an entire four months' hard earned pay (this was before they'd become lazy and just used their parent's mass of credit cards) on a pirate costume, complete with an eye-patch and fancy pirate hat. Jess had dressed up as a vampire, with freakishly-realistic fangs and lots of make-up to make her skin appear pale. They were both grinning like total idiots, Jess's fangs quite obvious, and Sam had a large sack slung over his shoulder, filled with an assortment of chocolate and candy. Not exactly your typical seventeen-year-olds, but they'd had fun.

Jess glared at the smiling face of the idiot-girl in the photo. "If you only knew." She muttered. She closed the album with a snap, something between anger and despair in her eyes. Anger had been more dominant for the most part after breaking up with Sam, partly at the _man_ Sam had left her for, partly at herself for taking so damn long to realize Sam was cheating on her, and mostly at Sam for doing it in the first place.

A loud knock sounded on the front door (and was amazingly heard over Linkin Park), and Jess got to her feet, wiping her eyes as she walked to the front door.

Her first instinct when she opened the door was to slam it shut again. But Sam didn't give her the chance. In the sense that he tried to take a step forward, tripped over his own feet, and fell to his knees in front of her, and before Jess could even think about closing the door, he'd wrapped his arms around her waist. He didn't do anything else, just knelt there with his arms around her, the side of his head resting against her bare stomach.

"Sam…" She said, trying to push him off. "Sam!" She said, more forcefully when he didn't respond. To emphasize her words, she found herself slapping him lightly across the face, trying to snap him back to reality.

He instantly recoiled from the slap, pulling away and falling flat on his back, and it was only then that Jessica noticed the black-colouring of soot and ash that covered a large portion of his clothes and face. He stared up at her with something akin to confusion and fear in his eyes, his mouth hanging open slightly in shock, and despite herself, Jess found she felt guilty for hitting him.

"Sam, what happened?" she asked softly. He swallowed, shaking his head. Sighing, Jess knelt down in front of him, reaching out and placing a tentative hand on his face, purposely on the opposite side to the one she'd hit. The look on Sam's face was one of anxiousness, but it eased slightly when he realized she wasn't going to hit him again. He reached forward, and before Jessica could stop herself, she'd pulled him into a warm, comforting hug.

She pulled him to his feet (with some difficulty) and led him into the house, sitting him down on the couch and ignoring the black marks he left on the creamy-white coverings.

"What happened?" she asked again, sitting down beside him.

"Fire…" he whispered, and swallowed again. "Fire… it… it burned…" He turned his hand over and looked at it, and Jess got a good look at an angry-red burn that covered a large portion of his palm. Aside from that, though, he seemed to have gotten out of whatever had happened without getting too seriously injured.

"I… I'll get something cold to put on this." Jess said. He looked at her, blinking, as if struggling to understand. Jess wondered if something had happened to him; clearly he'd been in a fire, and that in itself was probably traumatic, but surely not to this degree.

"It burned." He said again. Jess nodded.

"And I'm going to get something cold for it, okay?" she said. Sam nodded.

"Okay," he said. Jess nodded again, and got to her feet. She was just at the door of the living room when Sam spoke again. "I'm sorry."

She froze, knowing she needed to continue into the kitchen, but unable to convince her legs to carry her that far. The sincerity and pain in Sam's voice made her feel even guiltier for all the hateful things she'd thought about him.

"I know you are," she finally said. Then she continued into the kitchen, getting a washcloth out of one of the drawers and turning the tap on, soaking the cloth in cold water and then taking it back to Sam, doing her best not to let it drip on the floor.

Sam seemed… less then totally aware of what was going on, so Jessica was the one who had to press the wet cloth against his hand. He hissed in pain, but didn't move, his hand closing around the cloth, as well as her much smaller hand.

"I'm sorry," Jess said. "I shouldn't have hit you."

"My fault." Sam said. "I should've known better… I should've just played it safe."

"No, Sam, you… it's okay that you came here. I mean, I don't know why you didn't go to-"

"Not this," Sam said. "I never should've…" He was cut off as a loud, harsh cough took over. Jess patted him on the back, but wondered if that did any good if it was smoke inhalation that was causing the coughing. On that thought, she wondered if she should be taking Sam to the hospital to get checked out; if he had been in a fire, then…

"Do you think you can tell me what happened?" she asked for the third time. He looked at her for a long minute, apparently unsure of what to say. Finally, he sighed.

"I… I got home and…" he coughed again, waiting a moment to continue after it had ended. "And my dad was… he was…" He closed his eyes, rubbing his nose with his hand. Then he sneezed because some ash or soot must've gotten up his nose, and then he started coughing again.

Jess sighed, leaning back as the coughing finally subsided again. She was pretty sure she had figured out what had happened; if she was right, it was no wonder Sam was such a complete mess right now.

"Sam, is he…" she reached over, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Is he… dead?"

Sam shivered at the word, as if hearing it spoken out loud was all it had taken for the reality of what had happened to finally sink in.

"I… I couldn't… save him." Sam whispered. "I just… froze… I let him burn…" He started coughing again, and this time it seemed worse and lasted longer then before. Making a decision, Jess got to her feet.

"Okay, I've heard enough; I'm taking you to the hospital." She declared. Sam looked up as the coughing subsided, and stared at her for a long minute, like he wasn't quite sure what she was talking about. Then finally, he gave a small nod, and stood up as well, still holding the wet washcloth in his hand against the burn.

The drive to the hospital was reasonably uneventful; Sam kept quiet, staring straight ahead for the most part, and Jess didn't push him. So the trip was made in silence.

Once at the hospital, Jess had to take Sam by the hand and lead him across the parking lot and into the hospital itself. The way he was acting, it was like he was there and not there at the same time. He seemed only vaguely aware of what was going on around him, and reacted only slightly if something happened to him directly.

Once in the waiting room, Jess left Sam sitting on one of the chairs and walked up to the front desk.

"I need some help," she stated. "My friend was in a fire, and…" she looked over her shoulder at Sam, sitting on the chair staring blankly into space. "… I think his father might have been… killed… in the fire." The nurse looked gravely over at Sam, and then back at Jess.

"I'll have a doctor down here as soon as I can," she took a set of forms and handed them to Jess. "I'll need you to fill these out. Please take a seat." She said. Jess nodded, taking the forms and walking over to sit beside Sam.

"How you doing?" she asked, looking over the forms and beginning to fill them out. Sam was staring down at the cloth still covering the burn on his hand. After a minute, he looked over at Jess.

"I'm… okay." He said, though the look in his eyes made it obvious that he was anything but. Tears welled up in his eyes, the first real sign of awareness he'd given since he'd fallen to his knees on the front step of Jess's home. After a minute, he shook his head. "No I'm not." He whispered, his voice cracking. "My dad's dead…" The words seemed unreal, even to Jess, as he said them, like he didn't quite realize what it was he was saying.

"Are… are you sure?" she asked. "I mean… is it possible that-?"

"He's dead!" Sam said loudly. It drew a few stares, but he didn't notice. "He's dead and it's my fault. I sat there and I let it happen. I… I should've…" he couldn't continue. He closed his eyes, tears rolling down his cheeks, leaning back against the chair. He started coughing again, which quickly turned to a retching, choking sound.

"Sam?" Jess said softly.

"Water." He said. Jess nodded, got to her feet and walked over to the water cooler, grabbing a plastic cup from the stack on the side. She filled it with water and brought it back to Sam, holding it out to him. Reaching out, he took it unsteadily from her hand and brought it to his lips, taking small sips as he tried to soothe the raging cough.

Finally, it subsided again, and Sam leaned back, sipping down the rest of the water and rubbing his throat.

"My fault." He whispered again miserably. Jess took his head in her hands forcing him to turn and face her.

"No, it's not," she said. "Don't even think that, you hear me? It's not your fault."

"But-"

"No, no buts." Jess said vehemently. "You didn't start that fire; you didn't push him into it. You didn't do anything to get him killed." Sam stared at her for a long minute.

"I didn't do anything to stop it either." He said, sounding as miserable as ever.

"Do I have to slap you again?" Jess demanded.

"Please don't." Sam whispered, and Jess was shocked at how broken he sounded; how had Sam changed so much from the young man she'd been dating just days earlier in such a short amount of time?

Biting her lip, she sighed, getting to her feet. "I'll be right back." She said, and quickly took the forms back up to the desk, handing them back to the nurse. Not far away, she thought she heard the sound of ambulance sirens, and wondered if maybe… it just seemed like too much of a coincidence.

Glancing at Sam, and seeing he seemed preoccupied enough to sit and wait for another couple of minutes, Jess slipped down the hall in the direction of the sirens. They stopped after a moment, but by then Jess had a fair idea of where they were, and arrived just seconds later.

Her suspicions were wrong; it wasn't Sam's dad being brought in. The guy didn't even look like he'd been in a fire. In fact, from where Jess stood, it didn't look like he was injured at all.

Deciding there was no point in staying, Jess turned and headed back to the waiting room.

Sam looked up as she returned. "You're back?" he said.

"Yeah," Jess said, sitting down beside him. "Just something I needed to take a look at."

"Did you find it?" Sam asked, not looking at her.

"No," she said sadly. "I didn't." Sam nodded, like he understood what she was talking about. At that moment, a doctor walked up to them.

"Sam Adams?" he asked. Sam blinked, and looked slowly over at the doctor.

"That's me." He said, more like he was agreeing to something that anything else. Jess stood up, and Sam did as well, looking at the doctor.

"He was in a fire." Jess explained, reaching over to move the cloth so that the doctor could see the burn. She didn't notice the curious look that came to the doctor's face when she mentioned the fire.

"Right, well, come this way, and we'll take a look at you." He said, gesturing for Sam and Jessica to follow him.

-;-

Although Sam showed no sign of external injury aside from the burn on his hand, the doctor wanted him to stay overnight at the hospital, in case he was in shock. Seeing as Sam seemed only barely aware of anything the doctor said to him, that seemed like a pretty fair judgement.

Of course, even in the state he was in, he still needed to go to the toilet. He slept away most of the afternoon and evening, waking around eight-thirty and announcing to Jess his bladder felt like it was about to explode. All Jess could really do was hope he hadn't spoken _too_ loudly.

"I can do it on my own." Sam declared a minute or so later as he climbed out of bed. The sleep had obviously done something to his state of mind, because he was much more coherent then he had been. So, Jess relented, and waited in his room while he went in search of the bathroom.

It wasn't that hard, and he quickly did his business and then head back in the direction of the room he'd been given, glancing absently around his he walked down the hallway past all the other patients' rooms. He froze as he passed one in particular, and took a couple of steps backwards, not quite daring to believe what he'd seen at a passing glance.

"Dean…" He breathed, gazing in through the window at the man lying on the hospital bed. Without even realizing it, Sam reached out and took hold of the door handle, turning it and pushing the door open. He slipped silently into the room, closed the door behind him, and then turned to get a good look at Dean.

He was hooked up to a couple of machines; Sam wasn't sure what they did, but they didn't exactly instil a good feeling in him.

Looking back down at Dean, Sam dragged a chair over from the wall and sat down in it. After a moment's hesitation, he reached out and laid his hand on Dean's.

"I heard you." He whispered. "Or, I thought I did anyway, I still don't really understand what's happening to me." He tried to laugh, but it didn't sound right.

Too busy with his rambling, he didn't notice Jess coming down the hall in search of him. She stopped suddenly, looking in through the window of a room and seeing Sam sitting on a chair, beside the man she'd seen brought in earlier in the ambulance.

She knew she should just go back to Sam's room and wait for him. But in spending time with Sam, she too had become afflicted with the urge to do stupid things, so she took a step closer, listening in on what Sam said while at the same time wishing she could _be_ anywhere, _doing_ anything but that.

"You came back," Sam continued, sniffling and blinking back tears. He smiled for a moment, but then looked at the machines again and then back at Dean, a slightly bitter look on his face now. "You came back and now you're lying there in a hospital bed." He sniffled again, wiping his eyes. "Why'd you come back Dean?" he asked the question that had been bursting to be released since he'd walked into the room, not expecting in answer.

"Ask me again when this is over." Dean whispered groggily, so quietly Sam almost didn't hear him. His breath caught in his throat and he stared at Dean, willing himself to believe that he hadn't just imagined that.

"Dean?" he breathed. The older man's eyes opened slowly, and he blinked up at Sam.

"Am I dreaming?" he asked, totally serious.

"No." Sam gasped out, unable to stop the goofy smile spreading on his lips. Unable to stop himself, he took Deans head in his hands and almost desperately planted a warm, loving kiss on his lips, tears of relief rolling down his cheeks. After a long moment, he finally pulled back, and saw tears falling from Dean's eyes as well.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," he gasped. "I'm so, so sorry. I- I thought I was… doing the right thing… I didn't want you to get hurt, but… but then I- I thought you were dead and-"

"I'm not." Sam interrupted. "I'm here, I'm right here." To emphasize this, he kissed Dean again, and for those few brief moments everything that had happened since they had met seemed to fade from existence. They were kissing for the first time, happily, lovingly.

On the outside of the room, Jess backed away from the door; as always, her stupid actions had consequences. Swallowing, she turned away and moved quickly away from the room, not looking back once.

-;-

**A/N: And... Freeze! Right there, on that chickflick moment between Sammy and Dean. Hopefully it wasn't too cheesey. If it was, I'm hoping you'll ignore the cheeseyness in favour of the fact that the chapter is _finally finished_! I thought I'd never get it done! But finally, I did. I really don't know what else I can say. Oh, that last bit with Jess leaving, I'm unsure whether or not I should leave it in, so I'd appreciate opinions on leaving it in or taking it out. Only one, maybe two chapters left.**

**A very merry Christmas to you all, and thank you for reading. I'm not sure when the next chapter will be up, but rest assured, it will come. **


	20. Some Wounds Take Longer to Heal

**Forever's Not Enough**

**Disclaimer**: See Prologue.

**Author's Note**: So, after my nice, long vacation from writing (and after the writing part of my brain had a small sleep), I finally got back to this chapter.

**Thanks to**: FastFuriousChick

**Review Answers**: That sound you hear is me whimpering. So many wonderful reviews. Luckily, I've answered a lot with the review answering system; it's just the ones that are anonymous that I haven't.

jackyll – Lol, that I did. Oh, I don't think she'd got that far. Thanks, will do.

IslandGurl808 - Thanks. Hehe, funny word. I'm glad you liked it. Yes, indeed it must've been. Yes, I figured; she's hurt, she's angry, but Sam is still a human being, and deep down, she still loves him. She wouldn't just leave him out on the porch when he's not-all-there and possibly seriously hurt. I hope this was worth the wait.

**Chapter 19**: Some Wounds Take Longer to Heal

Sam knew he had to get back to Jess, let her know he hadn't drowned in the toilet or whatever. And he didn't want to sneak around her, not now that she knew about Dean. Not after everything she'd done for him. So, after promising he'd be back, kissing to prove he was still there, and then promising again, Dean finally allowed him to leave.

Jess was, as he'd expected, waiting for him back in his own room.

"Hey, uh, back already?" Jess asked, giving him a smile. Sam frowned.

"Yeah…" He said. "You okay? You look-"

"Fine." Jess cut across him. "I'm fine. I just… I guess I'm a little tired." She didn't look tired. If Sam were to hazard a guess, he'd say she looked like she'd been crying. "Will you be alright if I leave?" she asked him.

"Uh, I guess," Sam said. "Jess, are you sure you're alright? I mean… if something's wrong, I want you to know-"

"I'm fine, Sam." Jess said, perhaps a little too quickly. "I just… I need to get out of here. I'll see you later." Before Sam could get in another word, Jess had pushed past him, quickly leaving the room.

"Jess…" Sam began, but she was already gone.

With a sigh, Sam sat down on the bed he probably should've been resting in, rubbing his forehead with his hand. Had Jess seen him with Dean? It seemed possible; she might've gotten worried. He wasn't exactly sure how long he'd been gone.

A small part of him told him not to care; he hadn't been sneaking around, hadn't been _trying _to hide anything from her, and it was her own fault for following him. Sam really didn't like that part of him, and he was trying to imagine how he'd feel if he, say, saw Dean kissing Rebecca. He'd be hurt, that was for sure.

Even though they had already broken up, Sam suspected that if Jess _had_ seen him kissing Dean, it probably would've hurt just as much, to have it thrown so fully in her face. That made Sam feel bad, because the last thing he'd ever wanted to do was hurt Jess.

He looked at the white t-shirt and light grey pants left for him; what all the other patients were wearing. Sam had been given them while the doctor was bandaging his hand, but he had refused to remove his shirt to put them on, and no matter how much Jess and the doctor tried to convince him, he was adamant about keeping his shirt on while anyone else was around.

The cuts on his face, he'd been able to explain away, though he couldn't really remember what the story had been. The cuts on his chest would have been far more difficult to explain, and he hadn't felt up to the effort it would require. So he'd decided it was just better to keep them hidden for now.

But now that he was alone, he figured it was safe. He stripped off his trousers first, and pulled the pants up over his boxers.

His shirt was a little harder; he had to be careful not to rub it against the cuts as he pulled it over his head. He was about halfway there when he remembered he could just unbutton the front of his shirt and slip it off his arms. He immediately set to work doing this instead, and then pulled the white t-shirt down over his head with only mild pain and difficulty.

Wincing slightly, he finally finished with the t-shirt, and looked towards the door. All he wanted to do right now was curl up on the bed and go to sleep, so that he could forget about everything that had happened in the last couple of hours. But he'd promised Dean…

He really didn't want to risk the possibility of Dean actually taking him with him when he left, so he set aside his desire for sleep and walked to the door, intent on keeping his promise and returning to the older man. Even if he did fall asleep at Dean's bedside; at least he'd be there.

He knocked on the door to Dean's room before entering, though he didn't expect Dean to get up and answer it. He was just opening the door when a doctor walked out; he'd obviously been alerted to Dean regaining consciousness. He didn't give Sam a second glance, just walked right past him. Frowning after the doctor, Sam nonetheless pushed the door open against and entered Dean's room.

Dean was in much the same position he'd been in when Sam had left, if a little more awake. He still looked tired though. No, not tired; worn out. Fraying at the edges, whatever you want to call it. He looked much like Sam felt.

"You okay?" he asked. Dean's eyebrows rose.

"Am I okay?" he echoed. "Am I-? Sam, come on, I wasn't the one who just narrowly escaped being _burned alive_." Was that guilt that crossed Dean's face just then? Sam frowned, and he walked over and sat down on the side of the bed beside Dean, looking the older man in the eyes.

"I'm okay," he said. Hesitantly, he reached down and took Dean's hand in his own. With a look of resolve on his face, he brought it up and put it to his cheek. "See…" He said, giving Dean a reassuring smile that was obviously a little forced. "I'm here, with you, and I'm fine."

Dean pulled his hand away from Sam, obviously seeing the touch was making Sam uncomfortable. Sam stared at Dean for a long minute, and then he pushed himself forward, forcing Dean to move over to make room for him.

"Sam, what're you-?"

"I love you." Sam interrupted him. Dean stopped, his mouth hanging open. Sam stared at him, realizing the words sounded foreign, like he was speaking a different language. Swallowing, he laid down next to Dean, resting his head on his shoulder and taking his hand again. Sam then purposely looked anywhere but Dean's face, afraid of what he might see there.

Dean didn't say anything for a long time. Just sat there, blinking on occasion, mouth hanging open. Finally, though, he took a deep breath, and spoke. "Do you, really?" he asked.

Sam looked up at Dean, and a small smile came to his lips. Slowly, he nodded, and then snuggled up against Dean as if to emphasize the point.

"I do," he whispered softly, smiling up at Dean. A hesitant half smile came to Dean's lips, and then he leaned down and kissed Sam on the forehead.

Also smiling, Sam closed his eyes, trying to relax as Dean gently eased his arm around the younger man. He tried to focus more on Dean then on Dean touching him, leaning against him in the bed that really wasn't made for two fully grown men to lie next to each other in.

"Thank you for coming back," he whispered against Dean's chest, his voice already heavy with drowsiness. Dean, lying back against the pillows, let himself smile fully, gently stroking Sam's hair with his hand.

"You're welcome." He whispered back.

-;-

Neither Sam nor Dean had to stay in the hospital any longer then the one night. Sam hadn't been in any hurry to leave Dean's bed, but apparently one of the doctors didn't approve of patients sharing beds overnight, and sent Sam back to his own room, much to the chagrin of both men.

Sam was just getting ready to leave. All that was really required was for him to sign some forms (he hadn't really thought to ask what for) and to get changed into his own clothes. Again, he went through the pain the t-shirt inflicted on his cut up chest, but he ignored it for the most part, and delicately buttoned up his shirt a couple of seconds later.

As he stripped off the pants, his thoughts drifted down the hall to Dean's room, where he was fairly certain Dean was also getting changed. Sitting down on the bed, pants pooled around his ankles, he bit his lips.

_Dean?_ he thought. He waited, but nothing happened. Not that he was really expecting anything to happen. He'd just thought… but he'd probably been imagining things.

Shrugging, he kicked off the pants and stood up, picking his trousers up off the bed and pulled them on.

As he turned to leave the room, he slid his hands into the pockets of his trousers, and froze. He pulled his hands back out, and sure enough, there was the letter. In the confusion and exhaustion following the previous day, he'd totally forgotten about the letter he'd found with the photo album.

Frowning, Sam backed up, sitting back down on the bed, staring at the envelope in his hand. Of course the last thing ever said to him by his father was going to be written in a letter. A small amount of resentment welled up inside of him, but he quickly pushed it to the back of his mind; what good was there in resenting a dead man?

After a long moment, he turned the envelope over and opened it, taking out the letter and unfolding it. He glanced over the sheet of paper, reading the words in his head.

_Sam_

_I'm sorry I couldn't tell you this in person. I received a call from the law firm, and it's unlikely I'll be home before you get back. But I wanted you to see the photo album which you have no doubt already looked through. Your mother put it together not long before she died._

_I realize a letter may not be the best thing for our relationship right now, and I regret I allowed both of us to drift so far apart that the only way we _did_ communicate was through letters. The last thing I ever wanted to do was drive you away, though it seems as though I may have done that anyway._

_I hope that one day you can forgive, and that I'm given a second chance in being your father. And I also hope that one day, I learn how to be your Dad._

At the bottom of the letter, it looked like his father had started writing 'Your father' and then thought better of it, scribbled it out, and written 'Dad' underneath it. Sam couldn't help but smile at the amateur mistake, something he'd never seen his father do before.

It took him a moment to realize there were tears making slow trails down his cheeks. He quickly wiped them away when he heard someone coming down the hall, and a second later, the door opened and Dean stepped in.

"Hey, you ready to-?" Dean began, but stopped when he saw Sam trying to hide his tears, and then the letter in his hand. "What's that?" he asked, nodding towards the letter.

"It's, uh, nothing." Sam said, folding it up and putting it back into the envelope. Dean fixed him with a disbelieving look, and with a sigh, Sam relented a little. "It's… it was… from my father." Dean immediately looked guilty.

"Oh, jeez, Sam, I'm sorry, I-"

"Dean," Sam interrupted. "It's alright. I just… I guess some wounds take longer to heal then others." He shrugged. Dean still looked unsure. "Dean, what's wrong?" he asked. "You've been treating me like I'm made of porcelain."

Dean swallowed, looking at his feet. Sam furrowed his brow, well and truly confused now. Had he done something without realizing it?

"I… I just…" Dean's voice was barely audible. "Did he… did I…?" He couldn't bring himself to say it, but Sam had a feeling he knew what Dean was so worried about. He reached over and put his hand under Dean's chin, raising the other man's head so that he was looking Sam in the eye.

"He hurt me," Sam said. "He used knives… broken glass… even his fists at one point. But that was all." To emphasize this, he pulled Dean into a tight, reassuring embrace, as much for his own benefit as Dean's. "He never… Dean, how long have you been thinking that?" he asked, pulling back. Dean shrugged. The guilt was still there, but there was also a sense of relief; it was evident in his eyes.

"Sam… I'm sorry." He finally said. Sam couldn't help but smile at the sheer vulnerability and honesty in the other man's voice.

"Dean…" He put a hand on Dean's shoulder. "I forgave you second you pulled me off the… shapeshifter's corpse." It felt strange saying shapeshifter, like saying the word confirmed his existence, and the existence of everything else he had told Sam about Dean. "Now, are you ready to get out of here? Because I am."

-;-

Sam asked Dean to drive him to what remained of the house, and Dean obliged. As it turned out, a small portion of the house (the kitchen and garage) had survived the fire. Despite Dean's warning that the structure probably wasn't stable, Sam walked in through what remained of the front door, and made a beeline for what used to be the living room.

There was nothing left, and Sam couldn't quite hide his sadness at that; he had hoped something of the photo album had perhaps survived. Not that he'd expected it, only hoped…

"I'm sorry." Dean said.

Sam didn't answer for a long minute, just stared at the empty, blackened room. "This wasn't your fault." He finally said, his voice absent, like he wasn't really paying attention to what he was saying.

Dean immediately suspected what Sam meant by that, and stepped up beside him. "It wasn't yours." He said, putting a hand on Sam's shoulder.

"Yeah…" Sam said, still absently. He looked back towards the hall. "Could you… help me with something?" he asked. Dean nodded, and Sam led him down the hall in the direction of the kitchen.

Or, to be more precise, the garage.

"Sam, when I said I'd help you," Dean said about fifteen minutes later. "I didn't mean I'd attach a trailer to the back of my car so we can cart your death-trap halfway across the country."

"And yet you did it anyway," Sam said, smiling at Dean as he pushed his motorbike up onto the trailer that was indeed now attached to the towbar of Dean's beloved Impala. "Besides… it's not a death-trap." He said this like it was all that need to be said.

"Yeah, you go ahead and believe what you want," Dean said. "Me? I'll stick with four walls and a steering wheel." He patted the back of the car. "Oh, by the way," he said suddenly, walking around to the back seat and opening it. Sam looked over from his bike, a curious look on his face. "I found this. I'd appreciate it very much if you wore it next you went for a ride; less chance you getting torn apart when you inevitably crash." He withdrew something from the car and tossed it at Sam, who caught it.

Sam blinked, eyeing the item he had been thrown. It turned out to be his leather jacket. He looked up at Dean. "You found it?" he asked.

"Floor of the car; keep better track of your clothing in the future." Dean said in a mock-berating tone. "At least until you buy some more." Sam frowned; it hadn't occurred to him that he had… well, aside from the bike, helmet, and the clothes he was wearing, he had nothing.

His thoughts were interrupted when his cell phone suddenly started ringing in his pocket. He pulled it out, glancing at the caller ID before answering.

"Jess." He breathed. Dean looked up at the mention of Sam's ex-girlfriend's name.

"_Sam…_" Jess sounded like she was forcing herself to speak. "_I… I wanted to apologize… for leaving so quickly yesterday._" Sam's face softened slightly. "_I saw… I saw you and your… boyfriend in his room, and I kind of just… well, I guess I just wasn't ready for it._"

"Its okay, Jess." Sam said.

"_Yeah, well… I just wanted to say goodbye,_" Jess said. "_I had a feeling you wouldn't be sticking around for long now that… nothing's keeping you here._"

"Jess, I wouldn't have-"

"_Sam._" Jess interrupted. "_Please don't. I just… called to say goodbye. That's all._"

"Okay," Sam said, nodding even though she couldn't see him. He swallowed. "Well… goodbye then." He said.

"_Yeah… goodbye, Sam._" Jess said, and Sam thought he heard barely contained tears in her voice. Before he could say anything else, Jess had cut the connection. Swallowing again, Sam lowered the phone, his hands falling to his sides.

"Sam?" Dean asked, stepping up onto the trailer. "Something wrong?" Sam looked up, and made an attempt at a smile.

"No…" he said. "Or… maybe… but not for long." He gave Dean a genuine smile this time. "I'm… I'm ready to leave."

Dean stared at him for a long minute, before nodding. "Okay, then." He said, and returned the smile with one of his own. They climbed down off the trailer, and walked around their respective sides of the car, climbing in and closing the doors.

Dean was just beginning to turn the ignition when Sam turned in his seat belt, leaned over and took Dean's head in his hands, turning the older man so that he could kiss him.

Dean immediately took his hands off away from the ignition and steering wheel and put them on Sam's shoulders, returning the kiss.

They pulled apart after a moment, and Sam smiled at Dean. "Just my way of saying I really am ready." He said. Dean grinned, and then turned his attention back to the car, turning the ignition and starting it up. He drove out onto the street, and was surprised when Sam leaned over and rested his head on Dean's shoulder.

"I'm ready, as well." Dean said, flashing a smile down at Sam. And he was happy, as well. With the man he wanted laying against him and his car humming softly as they drove down the street, Dean was the happiest he'd been in a long time.

-;-

With a sigh, Jess lowered the cellphone from her ear, and hit the End button. She slipped the phone back into her pocket, and turned her attention to the mug of coffee in front of her, absently stirring it with a plastic spoon, even though it had long since been stirred to within an inch of its life and was probably cooling off quite rapidly.

She was sitting in a small (some would call it 'cozy') coffee shop. It was actually the one place she could think of that she'd never been to with Sam.

"You look like you could use something stronger then coffee." Said a young woman maybe a couple of years older then Jess. Jess gave a shrug.

"Coffee shop; there is nothing stronger in this place." She said. The woman smiled at Jess, and sat down opposite her in the booth, pulling out a small metal flask. Jess raised an eyebrow.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Tequila." The woman said. Jess nodded, shrugged, and downed her coffee in a few big gulps. She shuddered, cringing at the taste of cold coffee, and then pushed the cup towards the woman.

"Fill me up." She said. Nodding, the woman unscrewed the lid of the flask, tipped it up, and filled the mug about halfway. "I don't think I got your name." She said, raising the mug to her lips and taking a sip of the tequila. The young woman smiled.

"I'm Meg." She said. Finally, Jess returned the smile.

"Jessica." She said.

-;-

**A/N: Guess what. That's it. Forever's Not Enough is officially over.**

**Okays, first thing I'd like to say, because I'm sure at least a few of you are wondering: No, Meg is not possessed. This AU Meg is demon free. One of you asked me not to kill Jess… to give her a happy ending. I'll leave it up to you guys to decide whether or not this can end happy for Jess Insert innocent smile here .**

**Next, the part I always dread but can never stop myself from doing: thanking each and everyone of you (I hope) who reviewed. So, a thank you to Jen, anon, Miss Meehan, Thru Terry's Eyes, rockchick900, Spuffyshipper, jackyll, Paloma, NaturallySupernatural, fairyntoad14, Deadlove Calling, Taiven, pandora jazz, darkangel36, Winchesters-Shadow, JRAismine, The Emerald Phoenix, THE someone, inu-kaglover45, wcfan, Rose of No Man's Land, Maygin, Wolf-of-Insanity, Pampers Baby Dry, Katrin Van Helsing, Annibal, empath89, tvbatina, Dean's-Goddess, spootycup, roxy071288, SWinchester, Insomniac-Angel, Quino27, Jack, astalder27, Supernatural GilmoreGirls, Epithelial, ObuletShadowStalker, ellynora, Kagome M.K, Mus4u, WeirdInAGoodWay, the crazy ladies, Moon-Memory, LenJade, pulpfish, LittleWing, leoandpiperluva, Dawn Vesper, IslandGurl808, zoned-out, andrewhot, xxsammiexx, djiann, StaryDay, potterluvva.**

**And… breathe! Okay.**

**And also, a big thank you to both mysterchic, who beta'd a couple of chapters, and a big thank you to FastFuriousChick, who not only beta'd the multitude of chapters, she also put up with my constant complaining and whining about my unreasonable muse and my inability to come up with ideas.**

**And now, something I'm sure many of you have been waiting for: An explanation to Sam and Dean's abilities.**

**Sam: Okays, as I mentioned… somewhere… to someone, both their abilities are mixtures of different abilities. Sam's is a mixture of clairaudience, essentially, the ability to hear things that others can't (ghosts, etc), and telepathy, the ability to read the thoughts of others, and on some occasions, hear the voices of people who are nowhere near you. Sam hearing his father arguing with his stepmother is a good example of this, but there was also something some of you may have noticed; after Sam killed the shapeshifter, and he and Dean are in bed, Dean says "I'm sorry" and Sam says "This isn't your fault", which is something I planned to bring back in this chapter (which I did). Sam said the exact same thing when Dean apologized this time… kind of pointless, but I just thought it'd be interesting to show hints of it happening here and there. There are three main triggers that activate this ability: the other 'chosen ones', the Demon, or if he's in an area of strong paranormal residue.**

**Dean: Ah, yes. Dean. It took me so long to come up with his. But basically, it's a combination of psychometry, the ability to hold/touch an object and learn information about it's owner, and clairsentience, which is closely related to psychometry in the sense that a person learns information by feeling something… although I just thought that it's possible that means 'sense' and not 'touch'. Oh well. Main points in the story when Dean's abilities were used? Basically, every time he touched Sam and seemed to 'know exactly what he needed', when he was sitting on the bed (thus, touching it) and _felt _the shapeshifter downloading his memories, and when he touched Sam's jacket (though that was kind of an obvious use of his ability).**

**So, I hope those two explanations make sense. And I hope you've all enjoyed this story as much as (and at times, more then) I have enjoyed writing it. I'll be writing the sequel, Time and Time Again, some time in the not-too-distant future, though whether it'll be my next story or not is yet to be decided. Thank you all for your reviews and encouragement. Until next time, Cyas.**


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